Dance Me to the End of Love
by Hayseed Socrates
Summary: Jane attempts to catch Red John by himself, but things do not go well. Can Lisbon help Jane conquer his demons? And hers? Not for the faint of heart, but eventual Jane/Lisbon if you hang in there. Now complete, and there's still a little surprise twist waiting in the last chapter. The title is stolen from the wonderful Leonard Cohen song.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these great Mentalist characters, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Lisbon's morning started as an unremarkable Thursday, pleasantly quiet, with no hint of what would unfold as the day wore on. A promising day for her to catch up on the mountains of paperwork that Jane so often chided her about. She checked for Jane in the attic when she came in to get some details he had about their last case - she would need them to complete a few of her forms. Everything seemed in order in his little outpost, except there was no Jane. She dialed his cell and got automatic voice mail. Lisbon shrugged and headed to her office. It wasn't like she had a shortage of other paperwork to do. It would wait.

She didn't think too much about it for at least a couple of hours. Jane might be out finding the right kind of pastries, or getting his oil changed. But when she looked up from her stack of forms a little before noon, Jane was still nowhere to be seen. She redialed his cell, but it went straight to voice mail again. She rose and walked out into the bullpen where Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt all sat at their respective desks, also laboring over reports.

"Hey, Jane still hasn't shown up? Anybody seen him this morning?" Lisbon asked.

They glanced around at each other. No, apparently not.

"Maybe he's getting his shoes repaired again," offered Van Pelt, smiling.

"He didn't say anything to any of you?" Lisbon confirmed. Shaking heads and shrugs were her answer.

"At least he's not making work for us," Rigsby grinned.

"You don't know that, " Lisbon warned.

Cho peered at his watch. "It's already lunch time." The small crease she saw in Cho's brow didn't do anything to quiet that nagging worry she felt. Still, she could hardly call out the cavalry because nobody had seen Patrick Jane for three hours.

"When he shows up, I want to see him!" she said a bit too loudly and stalked back into her office.

The team exchanged raised eyebrows. They knew the Boss was right, though. Something felt off.

Lisbon tried to concentrate on her paperwork but that gnawing feeling in her insides wasn't hunger. She should have watched him closer. She should have seen this coming. He'd been leaving from time to time for several weeks and she knew he was working on the Red John case by himself. She begged him to let her help, but he always gave her "that look."

Still, up to now, no matter how secretive he had been about his activities, he had always at least let her know he would be away, or answered when she checked on him. Until today. This morning was different. Jane hadn't made an entrance or an exit, and that wasn't normal. Lisbon closed the file on her desk, slammed a desk drawer closed decisively, and strode back out into the bullpen.

"Something's wrong," she stated simply. "We need to find Jane."

"I'll check the hospitals?" Van Pelt offered hesitantly.

"I'll check for arrests," Rigsby added. He shrugged half an apology but Lisbon nodded, reluctantly agreeing.

"APB on his car?" Cho asked.

Lisbon hesitated. If Jane came strolling in after a late lunch with a box of leftovers, she was going to feel very silly. She explored her team member's faces and saw the same concern she felt deep in her gut.

"Do it," she agreed. "I know some places Jane hangs out sometimes – I'll go check them out. Keep in touch." There was a park she knew of where Jane went on days when he was in a good mood. And there was Frank's Tavern, which he had been known to visit on a particularly bad day.

A couple of hours later they reconvened, and all of them had come up empty handed. Now she was absolutely certain something was wrong. Even when Jane had gone to Las Vegas for six months, he hadn't just vanished. She'd watched him leave. After that fiasco, she'd sworn she'd never worry about him again, she recalled with a mirthless laugh. It wasn't the first lie she'd ever told herself.

"When we find him, he's mine – and I may just shoot him," Lisbon said, aiming for gallows humor and missing. "Keep looking – keep checking - anywhere you think he could be," she urged her team. "I'm going to make some calls." She whirled and went back to her office, sinking heavily into her desk chair. _How could he do this to her again_, she thought angrily. She glared at her empty couch and fought back tears of frustration. _Maybe he hadn't_. Maybe that's what worried her most of all. She pulled herself together, picked up the phone, and started dialing.

Another hour of unproductive searching had passed when the mailman pecked on her office door. The perpetually cheerful man looked at her through his big black glasses and gestured toward an 8X10 envelope and his electronic signing machine. She motioned him in. It wasn't unusual for her to get One Day Air packages containing documents relating to cases, and the mail guy was nothing if not punctual – he always brought them by 4 pm.

"Here ya go, Agent Lisbon," he smiled. "You gotta sign for this one."

He placed it on the desk in front of her and she scribbled her name onto his device. "Thanks, Troy," she offered automatically as he exited her office. Her mind was still off wandering through places Jane might have gone. She glanced down at the envelope as she reached to put it in her inbox. The address was hand printed in ink and started out: _Agent_ _Teresa Lisbon, CBI, Head Manager, Redundancy Department,_ followed by the street address. What the hell?

And then she saw it – the return address: Patrick Jane, CBI Consultant. She had the envelope ripped open in an instant. It contained a handwritten letter and the "home" end of a locator transmitter in a plastic bag.

"_Dear Teresa_," the letter started. The fact that he used her first name filled her with dread – this could not be good.

"_First, I'm sorry I couldn't include you in my plans this time, but we both know how that turned out with Sheriff Hardy – you simply don't have the patience for this sort of thing. And this way you won't be in any danger._

_If Troy is on time, I should already have apprehended Red John by now, most likely at his house. Just in case I've been required to improvise and you haven't heard from me, you should be able to find me using the transmitter I swallowed in a rubber sleeve. That's harder than it looks, by the way. I know you will do what you must, and I accept that._

_Please don't be angry with me._

_All my love,_

_Patrick"_

_Oh my God, what had he done_?, she thought, as she looked up to see who was still in the bullpen. "Van Pelt! Rigsby!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. They came dashing into her office. Lisbon stood at her desk, holding the bag with the transmitter at arms length in front of her.

"Find Jane!"

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They'd been on the road less than five minutes when the first word came. Lisbon nearly jumped out of her skin when her phone buzzed the notification of a text. From her seat as shotgun beside Cho, she read it out loud to the team:

_He's all yours, Lisbon. My work is done. PJ_

"What does that mean, Boss?" Van Pelt asked. Although Jane may not have articulated his intentions to the team as succinctly as he had to Lisbon, they all knew him, and they certainly knew how he felt about Red John.

Lisbon didn't disguise the fear in her voice as she answered, "I don't know, Grace. I don't know." A grim silence fell over the group.

The second text came a couple of minutes later.

_There's someone else here. Don't dawdle_.

Lisbon wasn't sure which text scared her more. She was glad Cho was driving, and even _he_ was going at a speed considerably faster than safe.

The early November darkness allowed them to get within a third of a mile of the isolated house. The one story stucco sat on about 35 brushy acres about an hour from Sacramento, and the listed owner was Al Scarlett. Travelling without lights, their SUV came to a halt and Lisbon and her team emerged, readying their vests and guns. Two additional vehicles pulled up behind them and cut their motors. They were in no hurry however, as Lisbon had insisted that their team be allowed to go in alone.

"Boss, do you think Jane...well..did something bad...to Red John?" Van Pelt ventured.

"I hope not, " Lisbon answered, shivering a bit as the desert air cooled quickly.

"Jane didn't send anything else after that last text," Cho said without emotion. "That's not good."

"Let's not assume anything, " Lisbon said, trying to keep her voice even.

"Yeah, everything may be just fine," Rigsby said, immediately embarrassed by the absurdity of his comment. "You sure about this, Boss?" he added. His eyes were clouded with genuine concern.

"Yes. I go first. When we get close, stay behind, out of sight, but watch and listen for my signal if we all need to go in."

She could sense their unspoken questions as to how much she would cover for Jane. She wasn't sure herself. But she knew if anybody could reason with him, it would be her. And who knew what she would actually find.

Lisbon moved silently toward the building, gun at the ready, with her team close behind her. She was silently thankful for the moonless night. She stopped about thirty yards from the house. There was some sort of activity going on in the lighted room – she could see it through the sheer curtains. They all peered in vain at the window, but they were too far away to see what was happening. She would have to get closer. A sudden movement at their feet make them all jump, and a lizard scurried off through the brush.

"Stay here. I'm going to go have a look," Lisbon whispered.

"Okay, Boss, " came the replies, and her team dropped to crouch in the murky darkness.

Lisbon crept slowly toward the corner of the house, far away from the window. Once she reached the stucco wall, she put her back against it and moved toward the light. She could hear soft classical piano music now, and the sound of a distressed female voice. As she inched closer to the window, she realized the voice was not live – it was recorded. _TV maybe?_ she wondered. She was right beside the glass now, and her heart pounded wildly as she eased into a position at the edge of the frame so she could peek in through the gauzy curtains.

She inhaled sharply, nearly crying out at what she saw. Jane was sitting on a low stool with his back against the footboard of a tall brass bed. His arms were stretched out to each side, bound tightly to the metal railings, and a headband of duct tape secured his head, upright and unmoving, to the railing behind him.

There was something sticking into his left shoulder and much of the left side of his rumpled white shirt was dark with blood. The front of him was covered with vomit.

Lisbon forced herself to watch his chest carefully until she was absolutely sure it was rising and falling. She pulled up the cross of her necklace to her lips and kissed it. There was something weird about Jane's eyes, but it was difficult to see exactly what it was through the curtains. She squinted harder. It was duct tape that she saw, over and under Jane's eyes. She bit her lip hard when she figured it out. Jane's eyes had been taped open.

The sound of the recording was to her left, out of her line of view, but she could tell there was movement in that direction. She would have to move to another vantage point to get a different viewing angle. She dropped down and crawled under the window to the other side, and peered carefully into the other side of the room.

There stood Red John beside a small table, razor in hand, making motions with it in the air. An eerie, vacant smile was plastered over his face, and he was watching Jane intently. Beside him on the table sat a laptop, playing a video. That's where the screaming was coming from.

Lisbon could hear the woman's recorded voice now, though she couldn't make out the video image. "Please. Help me, somebody. Please, don't," the woman on the laptop pleaded. "Oh God, no!"

Suddenly, the truth hit Lisbon and she recoiled back from the window. She slid down the stucco wall into the dirt, shaking in horror. This...monster...he had recorded it. He'd recorded it all, and now he was making Jane watch his own wife's murder.

Not only that, but Red John was reliving every cut, his razor slicing through the air, conducting a twisted, evil symphony for Patrick Jane.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: Thanks so much to **all of you** reviewers for your kind comments. (I'll take that "guest" one about me being sick and demented as a compliment.) *grin* Knowing folks are along for the ride is what keeps me up 'til the wee hours writing. I hope to have the conclusion done before Christmas.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist or any of the characters, and have never used them for profit. I'm only playing with them.

Lisbon pressed her back against the cold stucco and concentrated on breathing slowly and regularly. She had to keep it together, now more than ever. She was a good shot. She knew she could pop up, fire through the window, and take care of this monster once and for all. Despite her years of repeating the mantra that Red John should be arrested and tried in a court of law, right now she wanted to kill him with every fiber of her being.

But she couldn't. Jane had said in his text that there was someone else at the scene. If there was somebody with a gun, he might kill Jane even as she killed Red John. Lisbon could fairly hear Jane yelling in her ear, "I don't care, take the shot! Kill the bastard!" But in the end, Patrick Jane was far too dear to her, maybe dearer to her than he was to himself. It was a chance she couldn't take, even to kill a monster.

Instead, she whispered into her radio. "There's at least one perp with a knife holding Jane captive. I can't see the whole room. Call Kirkland and tell him to move on up. Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt, front door. Now. Back me up. We're going in."

She wasted no time sliding along the wall and around the corner to the front door. In seconds, her team arrived. They all looked at each other – they were ready. Lisbon nodded to Cho, and he crashed in the door with one fierce kick.

Lisbon slid quickly by him, going in first. Through the bedroom door she saw Red John facing her, razor in hand. The bed was to her left as she burst into the room, but she couldn't chance a look at Jane.

"CBI, drop your weapon," she shouted.

His reply was a chilling laugh that intermingled with the screams on the recording. Red John took a step toward Jane, giving Lisbon all the excuse she needed. She fired twice, hitting her mark, but as the madman crumpled to the floor in front of her, she saw movement to her right.

"Cho, right!" she shouted, keeping her weapon trained on Red John, even though he lay unmoving on the floor. Cho hurried past her as she kicked the razor away from the fallen man's reach.

"Hands on your head," Cho said , holding his weapon on a man in the shadows. "On the floor!"

Lisbon could see Cho cuffing the prone man out of the corner of her eye. "Got this one," he said evenly.

"Rest of the house," she instructed Rigsby and Van Pelt.

Red John was still alive, but barely, and he lay in a rapidly widening pool of blood. She was confident he wasn't getting up, and she knew she had another urgent deed to accomplish. Lisbon hurried to the laptop, stopped the video, and ejected the CD. She slipped the disc into its sleeve and deftly slid it under the back waistband of her pants, pulling her shirt tail out and over its upper edge to make sure it was concealed.

In three steps she was across the room, where she ejected the classical music CD from its player. Holding it by the edges, she went back and inserted it into the laptop CD drive.

She glanced up to see Cho watching her. Their eyes met and he nodded his approval. She knew he would tell no one.

"All clear!" came Rigsby's shout from the back of the house and he and Van Pelt reappeared in the bedroom. They both looked on, stunned, taking in the scene before them with horror.

There was no time to waste. "Van Pelt, call for an ambulance and cover Cho's man. Cho, you and Rigsby help me get Jane loose, " Lisbon barked as she turned to Jane.

Oh God, she thought, as she took full measure of Jane's appearance. His breath was ragged and his face was ghostly white. His eyes might be taped open, but he was clearly unconscious. She wondered with trepidation how much of the video he had had to endure.

Van Pelt made the call, but when she trained her gun on Cho's prisoner, she gave a disgusted start. "What the hell?" she said, frowning. The man was cuffed face down on the floor but his pants were around his ankles, his bare buttocks visible.

"It's Partridge. He was masturbating, watching Red John," Cho said without inflection as he holstered his gun.

"You perverted bastard!" Van Pelt blurted out, and gave him a swift kick to the ribs just for good measure. "Jane was right about you."

"Lisbon!" came a shout from outside the house.

"All clear!" she answered and Kirkland and two of his men appeared, surveying the scene. Even Kirkland seemed shaken by the sight of Jane in this state. Rigsby and Cho set about untying Jane's arms while Lisbon, ignoring the stench of vomit and blood, carefully removed the duct tape from Jane's forehead and cheeks. She didn't like the huge bloodstain that covered his chest or the labored nature of his breathing at all.

The three of them gently eased Jane to the floor. Meanwhile, out of the corner of her eye, Lisbon saw Kirkland give Red John a cautious poke with his foot. The injured man's breath barely rattled in his chest and his eyes were fixed forward, unseeing. "Looks like he's bled out, " Bob observed.

"What a shame," Lisbon quipped without taking her eyes off Jane. She knelt beside him now, and grasped his limp hand in hers. It was clammy and cool. She jerked her head around to the other agents, "Where's that ambulance?!"

On cue, she heard the wail of two sirens approaching. "Hang on, Jane, they're almost here," she said softly, though she knew he couldn't hear her. "Stay with me."

A crew of EMT's entered the room, escorted in by one of Kirkland's men. Rigsby loomed into their path, pointed to Jane and said, "This one first."

The combination of Red John's lifeless stare and Rigsby's bulk made their decision easy. "Got it." They knelt and worked quickly on Jane, starting oxygen, getting in an IV, and transferring him to the stretcher, being careful not to disturb the knife imbedded below his left collarbone.

Lisbon rose, her legs embarrassingly wobbly, and moved over to the bed, letting the EMT's do their job. The adrenaline from the situation was surging through her, and she sat down on the mattress, trying to conceal her trembling from the other agents. She was still in charge, after all.

Soon they lifted Jane's stretcher to waist height and rolled him toward the door. "Where?" Cho asked.

"Marshall's the closest hospital – it's about 6 miles west of here, toward Sacramento," the technician answered.

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Cho said. Lisbon fought the urge to go with Jane, but he was unconscious and she knew she would just be in the way. Besides, she was shaking so badly now she wasn't sure she could stand. _Get a grip, Teresa_, she chided herself.

A second team of EMT's arrived shortly, but they didn't need to hurry. There was no life left in Red John. The monster, Lisbon realized, was dead at long last.

She heard Van Pelt's voice rise over the lessening wail of the departing ambulance. "Hey guys," Grace called to Kirkland's men. "Can you take care of this piece of shit? Get his pants on him?"

Lisbon looked around the room, trying to focus on the situation at hand. On the table with the laptop sat a taser, a teabag, and mug with Jane's damaged cell phone sticking out of it. What the hell had happened here, Lisbon wondered.

"Boss," Rigsby said gently, looking at her trembling hands. "Are you okay?"

She looked up at him. She wasn't sure.

"Kirkland's team can work this," Cho said. "Let's go check on Jane. I"ll pull the car up."

She nodded. It was all she could manage at the moment.

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When they arrived at Marshall Medical Center, they went straight to the ER desk.

"We're here about an emergency admission - Patrick Jane?" Cho said, taking the lead.

"Oh," the clerk said. "He's go…" The word never quite made it out, but they could all tell "gone" was what she nearly said. "I'll have the doctor come out and talk to you."

_She couldn't lose him now_, she thought, her imagination running wild. _Not after all this_. She reached backward to sit down in the hard plastic waiting room chair. The others followed her lead, waiting silently. The room was half full, and everyone was trying not to stare at them. Lisbon looked down at her bloodstained shirt. Maybe that was why?

It wasn't long before a doctor emerged through the swinging doors in front of them. "Are you all here about Mr. Jane?" she asked them.

They nodded in unison.

"Come with me, please." A sickening dread filled Lisbon as they followed the doctor into a small adjacent room.

"Does Mr. Jane have family?" she asked.

"No," Lisbon replied. "We work with him." And then she added quietly, "I'm his listed next of kin."

"Ah, okay. We evaluated Mr. Jane and felt that his injuries were beyond what we could handle in our limited facility here. We volume expanded him as much as possible to stabilize his blood pressure, and sent him on to Sacramento where he could get the care he needs."

Only then did she and her team realize they'd been holding their collective breath.

"He's been taken to U of C Davis," the doctor finished.

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The ride back to Sacramento was tense and quiet. Lisbon couldn't shake the worry that even if Jane recovered physically from his injuries, the effects of this experience might be psychologically devastating.

About halfway through their journey, Van Pelt voiced a question that had clearly been nagging her. "When we went into the room back there, there was a video playing. Someone was screaming. After we checked the house and came back, there was just music."

Cho kept his eyes on the road and said decisively, "All you heard was music."

In the rear view mirror, Lisbon saw Risgby and Van Pelt exchange glances.

"Okay," Rigsby said.

"Just music," Van Pelt confirmed with a nod.

Lisbon sighed in relief, and passed the rest of the ride in silence.

Finally, the team arrived. The ER doctor they spoke with in Sacramento was direct but kind, and thankful for what history they could provide – especially about Jane's eyes. He explained that the knife had nicked a large blood vessel in Jane's shoulder. He had been taken straight to surgery to repair the damage, and was being transfused to replace his significant blood loss.

There were the usual disclaimers about unforeseen complications and infections, but the doctor sounded optimistic that Jane would survive. She saw a couple of cautious smiles replace the tight, grim expressions of her team.

Lisbon's relief about Jane's physical prognosis was fleeting, however, and progressed quickly to fears about what his mental state would be when he regained consciousness. The doctor had stated Jane would undoubtedly have corneal abrasions from the eye trauma, and his eyes might need to be patched depending on the severity of the damage.

When he awoke, Lisbon realized, it might be to blackness. This was not good. She wanted to be there when he came around, to let him know what had happened. Then she shook her head, knowing it was more than that. It was important that she, Lisbon, a person he knew and trusted, would be there with him. But the thought of the man she might face terrified her.

The doctor seemed confident that it would be at least four hours before Jane would be awake. Lisbon reluctantly agreed they should go back to CBI to clean up, check in with Kirkland's team, and pick up their private vehicles.

She had barely set foot in her office and stowed the stolen CD when Rigsby poked his head in her door. "Boss, Partridge is ready to be questioned."

"Be there as soon as I change my shirt," she said.

The two teams convened in the observation room and looked through the one way glass at Partridge. He sat at ease, his cuffed hands resting on the table, with a faint but unmistakable hint of a smile on his face.

Kirkland addressed Lisbon, choosing his words carefully. His expression was one she'd expect to see if he was diffusing a bomb. She wondered if she really looked that unstable. "Lisbon, I know this is officially your case, but I'm thinking my team should do the questioning here." And then he reached to disconnect the red wire… "I think you all are too close to this."

She almost laughed at the shock on everyone's faces when she agreed. "You're probably right," she said, shaking her head. "I might tear him apart with my bare hands." Kirkland nodded respectfully, exited with his men, and left Lisbon and her team to watch through the one way glass.

When Kirkland entered the room, Partridge flashed a smile that made Lisbon's blood run cold.

"That sick son of a bitch!" Van Pelt blurted out.

"Jane had him pegged from the start," Cho agreed.

Lisbon's jaw clinched involuntarily. "He's not going to deny anything. He's proud of it," she predicted.

Kirkland must have realized this as well, because he went straight to the questions. "You want to tell us what happened tonight?"

"Certainly, Agent Kirkland, though I'm disappointed Agent Lisbon didn't have the nerve to talk to me," he grinned and waved to the window.

Cho grabbed Rigsby's arm in time to stop him from bolting into the room next door.

"That's what he wants, Rigsby. Let's not give him the satisfaction," she said, seething. She had no idea that just how much Partridge was about to turn up her level of rage.

"Let's see, you all will want background, won't you?" he chuckled. "I've been working with Red John for years now. He thought of me as an advisor," Partridge straightened his posture a little, proud. "I told him technical things about how not to get caught. In turn, he allowed me to watch his recorded work, any time I wanted.

I went to his house about two thirty and went straight to the basement – that's where I always watch his recordings. I use a laptop and earphones, so I never disturb Red John. That's why I didn't hear Jane come in upstairs.

I took a break about 3:30 to get a drink, and heard voices as I came up the steps - I could tell something was wrong. Red John and Jane were talking. I sneaked over behind the rear bedroom door, where I could see what was going on.

That…that jerk," Partridge said with indignation, "had handcuffed Red John to the bed. He was just sitting there at the table, sipping his goddamned tea, with his back to me. And I couldn't believe what was coming out of his mouth, after all that bluster about killing Red John some day." Partridge gave a little snort. "He was dribbling on about how he had never done anything but hurt the people he loved…" Partridge put his hands over his heart, mocking the sentiment. "…and how today he was going to change that." He smacked his hands back down onto the table and rolled his eyes. "What a bunch of drivel."

Lisbon inhaled sharply and felt her knees weaken as she forced herself to stare straight ahead. She stiffened her back and avoided the eyes of anyone on her team, but she couldn't keep hot tears from rolling silently down her cheeks as Partridge continued. "What a weak, pathetic little girl Jane turned out to be. And after Red John had considered him such an adversary…" he shook his head.

Partridge was basking in the attention now, as if on stage. "Then I saw Jane send a text, and I knew I had to move. I had my pocket knife, and I didn't see anything but a taser on the table with Jane – idiot hadn't even brought a gun. I ran in and grabbed Jane from behind and buried my knife in his shoulder. As he went down I got my hand on the taser, and that was that. Not much of a man," Partridge mused coldly. "Then I stomped his phone and dunked it in his tea to short it out. Nice touch, don't you think," he beamed.

"I released Red John and we strung up Jane. A nice jolt of taser now and then and a few kicks to the kidneys kept him nicely…submissive," an evil grin crossed his face at the last word. "Red John was impressed with my work and said I had earned a reward. He was reenacting one of his most enjoyable works of art for me when Lisbon's bunch of party poopers arrived." He sneered at the glass where he knew his audience watched. "I think the redhead liked my ass."

Lisbon was pretty sure she heard Van Pelt actually growl behind her.

Kirkland asked his next question, "Do you know how Jane captured Red John?"

"He told me Jane broke into the house and waited for him to come in from work. Jane tasered a man in his own house and cuffed him to his bed," he said indignantly. "Shouldn't you be arresting Jane for breaking and entering and assault?" Partridge raised his eyebrows at the notion, and gave a little _tisk tisk_. "Or is he dead?"

Cho's grip tightened on the chair back in front of him. Lisbon took a deep breath, exhaled, and made a decision. "I've seen enough…of this," she said, her voice catching as she turned to her team. She was done being the one in charge today. "I'll be at the hospital," she said, wiping a sleeve across her face.

"Here boss," Van Pelt said softly, offering her a tissue.

"Thanks," Lisbon said, avoiding Grace's eyes. If she were to make eye contact right now, she was sure the maelstrom of emotions swelling within her would have to escape, and she desperately wanted to avoid losing it in front of her team.

They walked back up toward the bullpen, and Lisbon entered the doorway to her office. Without turning around, she said, "I'm going to need a moment here."

"You got it, boss," Cho said. "Meet you at the hospital."

Lisbon closed the door and drew the blinds to her little sanctuary. Her head tilted as she regarded the empty couch, and tears welled in her eyes again. Partridge's words ran over and over in her head. She knew Jane was talking about her – the person he loved. He had spared Red John for her sake, and it may have cost him his sanity, if not his life.

She sank slowly down onto the couch and picked up the throw, lifting it to her face to dry her eyes. The faint scent of him in the fabric melted her last ounce of control. _What have I done? _She let out a little cry, buried her head into the folds of the cloth and allowed herself to dissolve into shaking sobs.

Eventually she could cry no more, and a numb feeling settled over her. She glanced at her watch. There was one more thing she had to do before she went to the hospital – she had time. Lisbon moved to her desk, slipped the CD out of her drawer and put it into her computer. She had to see what Jane had seen, if she was going to help him though this. She steeled herself for the worst and pressed "play".


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Wish I owned The Mentalist, but alas I do not. I receive no profit from this story, except the joy of playing with the characters. Thanks, Mr. Heller, et al.

**AN: First, a big thanks to all who have commented so far - much appreciated. I thought this would only be three chapters, but turns out the story decided it would rather be four chapters. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading! I will conclude next chapter, I promise, and there's still a twist or two left. **

Lisbon strode purposefully out of the CBI building and headed straight for the dumpsters out back. A stiff west wind twisted her hair wildly around her head as she walked straight between the two enormous metal bins. The security cameras could not see her in this narrow corridor.

She pulled the CD out of her jacket pocket and dropped it on the gravelly blacktop surface. Then she lifted her foot high and brought the heel of her boot down on the disc, cracking it in half. She proceeded to stomp it over and over and over, grinding it into tiny, unrecognizable ribbons of hard plastic. Finally, unable to damage it any further, she kicked the dumpster viciously, crying out in frustration.

Cho appeared almost instantly into her line of vision, a few feet from the dumpsters. The sight of him snapped her fit of rage and she dropped her head, staring at the fragments of plastic on the ground.

He stood, silent and unmoving, and she jerked her head to look at him, jutting her jaw defiantly. She needn't have.

"Good call," he said, nodding.

Cho must have waited for her to come out of her office, to make sure she was all right. Her expression softened. She wanted to tell him what unspeakable things she'd just witnessed, and how she was more afraid than ever that they'd never get Jane back from this. But something in his stoic expression let her know he understood all of that. Maybe more.

"Thanks."

"Sure thing, boss," he replied. Cho looked at his watch. He was right, she realized - it was time to go.

She stooped to gather the shards of plastic, scooped them back into the paper sleeve, and stuffed the sleeve back in her jacket pocket.

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Rigsby and Van Pelt were sitting in the surgical waiting room when she arrived, looking at pictures on Rigsby's phone – no doubt he was showing off little Ben.

Van Pelt looked up when she walked in. "No news yet, Boss."

Twenty minutes later, the surgeon appeared clad in rumpled green scrubs. It was after ten, and his face wore the weariness of a long day. "You all with Mr. Jane?" he asked. They nodded in unison and rose together. "Hi, I'm Doctor Carson," he explained.

"How is he?" Lisbon said, chewing her bottom lip.

"The surgery went well. The damage to the vessel wasn't as bad as we feared, and it shouldn't give him any long term problems. It was fortunate they got him here when they did, though, because he lost a lot of blood. We've had to transfuse him just to get him to half the normal red cell count. He also has some rib fractures and nasty contusions – bruises. We decided not to patch his eyes for the corneal abrasions. They'll heal quickly and we plan to keep him pretty heavily sedated for a day or so, so he'll sleep through the worst of it."

Lisbon took a relieved breath. At least he would be able to see where he was. "Can we see him?"

The doctor surveyed the group. "It will still be awhile before he's conscious and even then he'll be very groggy - in and out for the rest of the night. I'm afraid we only allow one visitor at a time. If somebody wants to stay, they can, but I'd advise you all go home and get some rest. The nurses will take good care of him. I'll be by on rounds in the morning."

'Thanks," they murmured.

"No problem." He tucked his clipboard under his arm and disappeared down the hall.

Lisbon turned to her team. "It's late. You all go on home. I'll stay. It's not like I'm going to sleep anyway."

They protested mildly, without any real hope she'd budge on this one. "Hell of a day, Boss," Rigsby commented as he filed out.

"Red John is dead. Jane is going to be okay," Van Pelt offered.

"Yeah." Lisbon wished she was sure about that last part.

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She entered his room cautiously. Jane lay quietly on the bed amidst a tangle of tubes and wires. His left forearm was bandaged in place across his chest, and there were bruises on his left temple. Yet he looked so peaceful to her, much like he did she saw him asleep the couch at CBI. The constant torment that lurked underneath his surface was absent in sleep, his expression serene. That was probably why she always hesitated to awaken him, even for something urgent.

She'd been sitting with him for thirty minutes before he began to stir. She rose immediately to stand by the side of his bed. His eyelids fluttered and he grimaced.

"Jane?" she said, as she placed a hand on his free forearm.

He opened his eyes briefly, blinking, but the resultant discomfort made him squint them closed again. He lifted his right hand, opening it, and, she moved her hand into his. He closed his fingers around her hand and inquired softly, "Lisbon. Eyes?"

"You're in the hospital, Jane. The doctor says you have abrasions on your corneas. If you keep your eyes closed they won't hurt as much. He says they'll get better fast. You're gonna be okay."

"Teresa?" he whispered, making the "s" into a "z" like he always did. He just wasn't coherent enough to understand her explanation yet, so she put her other hand over his and squeezed. He managed to squeeze back for a moment and then his hand went slowly slack. He had slipped back into unconsciousness, just as the doctor had predicted.

She realized she needed a cup of coffee in the worst way. Rummaging in her pockets she found some change, and she also found the paper sleeve containing the pieces of the CD she'd destroyed. Beside Jane's sink there was a red plastic container marked "Biohazard." She emptied the bits of plastic into the container, crumpled the paper sleeve and pitched it into the trash as she went in search of vending machines.

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Lisbon was several feet shy of Jane's door when she heard his raised voice from the hall. She rushed into the room to see Jane swinging his good arm as best he could toward the nurse and protesting, "Get away from me! Leave me alone!"

"Mr. Jane, calm down, please," the nurse pleaded. Jane was clumsily trying to slide off the far side of the bed. "You need to lie still. I'm not going to hurt you." The nurse turned to Lisbon with an exasperated expression. "Can you help me here? He's going to open up that shoulder."

Lisbon was at his side in two steps. "Jane!" she said. "Jane, it's me, Lisbon." She grabbed his flailing hand in hers. Her touch seemed to cut through his panic and he stopped struggling. "Jane, it's alright. You're safe. You're in the hospital."

Lisbon turned to the nurse. "What happened?"

"I thought he was out so I went to put his antibiotic eye drops in and he went berserk," she explained.

"You touched his eyes?"

"I just pulled the bottom lid down so I could put the drops in," the nurse said.

"He's been through a…bad time. Some trauma. He had his eyes taped open," Lisbon explained.

"Oh," the nurse said, surprised, and then repeated, "Oh," with a new understanding. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that."

"It's okay, Jane, it's okay," Lisbon soothed. His breathing had calmed but when he tried to open his eyes, his face contorted in pain.

"Eyes hurt?" Lisbon asked.

A small nod.

"He's due for pain meds now," the nurse stated. "I'll go get them. Maybe I can get the drops in after that."

"You know, I work with him. I'm his friend. Maybe he would let me put them in?" Lisbon suggested.

"Okay," the nurse shrugged. "It's worth a try. As long as I witness it."

"Jane, there are some antibiotic drops that need to be put into your eyes so they won't get infected. Can I drop them in for you? It'll hurt for just a minute and then nurse…."Lisbon waited expectantly.

"Robinson. Etta Robinson."

"…Nurse Robinson will go get you some pain medicine. Do you understand? Will you let me do that, Jane?"

Another quiet nod.

Lisbon explained her every move in advance, managed to get the drops into his eyes without incident and the nurse went to get the meds.

"Okay?" Lisbon asked Jane, who was still blinking from the drops. "Hey. Are you with me?"

One more nod, a little stronger this time.

"Red John is dead, Jane. We found you in his house and he went for you with a razor, so I shot him. Partridge is in custody."

Jane inhaled sharply and his lips parted. Even in his current state, she was sure he understood.

"Dead?" he repeated through clenched teeth.

"Yes. He's gone, Jane. You got him." She felt a shiver go through his body at her words. She also took note of the sheen of perspiration that was forming on his face. She didn't know if it was the news, or the pain, or both. If she could only look him in the eyes…

The nurse reappeared, syringe in hand, and moved straight to his IV. "I'm going to give you something to help the pain, okay Mr. Jane? This will put you to sleep."

"Just like the cat," he muttered, and gave Lisbon's hand a little squeeze. She smiled in spite of everything.

"Get some rest," she said gently. The medication worked quickly, and within seconds his body relaxed, his breathing became even, and the pain dissolved from his face.

"Wow, good stuff," Lisbon observed.

"Yeah, the doctor wants us to keep him pretty well sedated for at least twenty four hours so he won't stress that repair. Look," said the nurse, " I'm sorry about the eye drops. I knew he was some kind of victim, but I didn't know the details." Her voice filled with pity. "Poor guy get abducted or mugged or something?"

"No!" Lisbon said severely, surprising herself with her immediate reaction.

The nurse stepped back, startled at Lisbon's sudden change of demeanor. "I'm… I'm sorry?" she stammered. "I thought…"

"Today," Lisbon stated with conviction. "Today this man," she pointed a finger at Jane," caught a serial killer that nobody has been able to stop for nine years. Nine years! And he captured him singlehandedly. Had him handcuffed." She knew her voice was way too loud but she couldn't seem to stop. "He was ambushed by that monster's…"

While Lisbon searched for a word that was derogatory enough for Brett Partridge, and the nurse cut in. "Ms. Lisbon, hold on." The nurse held up her hands, palms facing Lisbon. "Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Teresa caught herself, realizing she was taking out her frustration on the wrong person, in the wrong place. "Um…hey…I'm…sorry…it's been …"

"It's okay, you're upset," the nurse reassured her. "I get it. I can see he's a good…friend," she said with a knowing smile.

"No, I was out of line," she apologized. But a new train of thought had entered her head. Though he'd never admitted it, she knew how much Jane hated to be pitied. She had seen him cringe many times at the words of the most well meaning people. Jane had done a remarkable thing today and it deserved to be seen as such.

"Look," the nurse continued, " he's going to be out for at least three hours. Why don't you take a break and go get yourself something to eat?"

The gears were already turning in Lisbon's head – this was something she had to take care of immediately. "Yes," she agreed. "I will. I'm going to go make some calls." Then she turned abruptly on her heel and walked out of the room, leaving poor Nurse Robinson with a puzzled look on her face.

Lisbon found a quiet corner in the deserted cafeteria and pulled out her cell phone. First she called Bob to run some things by him and then she awoke Brenda, who was in charge of CBI public relations. Brenda was grumpy at being rousted out of bed at first, but by the time Teresa finished talking to her, she was sure Brenda was determined to make this into a PR goldmine for the department. Lisbon marveled at how easy it had been to manipulate the situation. _My God_, she thought with a smile, _I've learned entirely too much from Patrick Jane._

A few minutes later Lisbon was curled up in the aqua vinyl recliner beside Jane's bed. She flipped through the channels on the TV, certain she would be awake all night. She settled in under the blanket the nurse had brought her, and in spite of the days events, soon slipped into a fitful sleep.

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"Good morning!" Dr. Carson's voice jarred her awake. He and four other people in white coats stood at the foot of Jane's bed. Jane lay with his eyes closed, showing no evidence of awareness. Lisbon untangled herself from the blanket and tried to get her sleepy brain in gear while Carson thumbed through the chart. He looked at her over his half glasses.

"So you helped get those drops in last night? Thank you. Any problems after that?"

"No. I don't think so. I fell asleep," she admitted sheepishly. She stretched the awful crick in her neck and stood up. A car dealership commercial blared on the TV behind the medical team, and Dr. Carson reached for the remote. Just as he was about to silence the TV, the local news came on.

"We now join our News 9 correspondent Susan Epstein at CBI headquarters for this breaking story…"

The entire medical team turned around to watch the broadcast. There was Brenda from PR, standing behind her podium with a pack of reporters holding microphones and cameras. Brenda was dressed to the nines in a smart suit that Lisbon was sure she had saved for just such an occasion.

"The California Bureau of Investigation is pleased to report that the notorious serial killer known as Red John was killed last night. He was apprehended by CBI consultant Patrick Jane at a private residence about an hour east of Sacramento. While he held the suspect, Jane was ambushed by an underling of Red John's, Brett Partridge, a crime scene technician. Jane was injured in the scuffle. " Brenda was enjoying every moment of this.

"However, a team of CBI agents working in conjunction with a Homeland Security team stormed the residence, and Red John was shot and killed when he threatened a member of the team with a weapon. Brett Partridge remains in CBI custody, awaiting charges. Mr. Jane is listed in serious condition at a local hospital but is expected to recover. We will have more information later in the day. Thank you," Brenda finished and folded her papers on the podium.

"Serious?" They all jumped and whirled around when Jane spoke.

Carson muted the TV. "Mr. Jane? I'm Dr. Carson, the surgeon who repaired the vessel in your shoulder. Good work on catching that guy."

Jane blinked his eyes – it was obvious they still hurt, but he was holding them open with some effort. He glanced at Lisbon with a "we'll talk about this later" look. He appeared to be much more lucid this morning. Maybe the drugs were wearing off. She wondered if that was good or not.

"I'm serious?" Jane asked the doctor.

"Yes. You have significant injuries that are currently stable and we expect you to recover fully. It's just terminology. We have to tell the press something," he shrugged. "How are you feeling this morning? We need to take a look at you."

The doctor efficiently explained Jane's injuries to him and proceeded to examine his patient. The extensive bruising over Jane's ribs and torso showed far more evidence of abuse than Partridge had led them to believe in his statement to Kirkland. _That smarmy, evil little son of a bitch! _she thought.

Once the doctor finished prodding him, Jane's eyes drooped closed, and he appeared to drift off again. Carson directed his remarks to Lisbon. "Everything is going well. I admire your concern for your colleague, but why don't you take a break? You look exhausted," he observed with a sympathetic tone. "He's going to be sleeping most of the day. Leave your number and we'll call if there's any change," he assured her as his team departed.

She considered the doctor's advice. Jane knew where he was, and he hadn't gone off the deep end, at least not yet. She didn't know how he would react when he became more lucid, but maybe she should go home, get a hot shower and change clothes. "Sleep well," she whispered as she impulsively brushed a kiss on the sleeping man's cheek.

When she returned that evening, Cho was just leaving. "Hey boss," he greeted her in the hall. "I brought Jane some clothes for when they let him out. He was pretty groggy - didn't say much."

Cho was correct. Jane hardly knew she was there, and after an hour or so of watching him sleep, she decided to head home again and try to get a decent night's rest herself. She wanted to be thinking clearly when he really needed her.

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A red-faced nurse stormed out of the door to Jane's room just as Lisbon arrived on Saturday morning. "Your friend needs to keep his opinions to himself," she fairly spat at Lisbon as they passed.

Teresa smiled. Jane must be better.

He was propped up in his bed in a nearly sitting position, his eyes wide open and alert. The scowl on his face disappeared when he saw her.

"Lisbon!" he smiled. His voice was still weak, but he was clearly in command of his faculties now. "Where have you been?" God it was good to see him back to his demanding self.

"So - you must be feeling better?" she ventured with a sly smile, plopping her purse on the chair.

"On the contrary. They won't give me any eggs. They say they're not 'clleeear'," he sneered the word. "Jello is not a breakfast food, Lisbon. And this tea is terrible. They want me to eat and drink and then they bring me this?" he waved a hand toward the tray. Two cups of red Jello sat untouched, along with a Styrofoam cup of tea and a small container of orange juice.

"I don't know what happened, Jane. The guidebook said it was a 5 star hospital when we checked you in. Maybe you were unkind to the staff," she suggested, playing along.

Jane shifted his position and mumbled, "Nurse Ratchett…" under his breath as he grimaced in pain with the movement.

"How are your eyes?" she asked, hoping to redirect him.

"Still scratchy but better," he said grudgingly. "But these ribs are highly annoying. It's not like I can _not breathe_." Jane could be a baby about pain, but this time she was sure he was not exaggerating. She'd seen the bruises.

Just then Lisbon's phone rang. "Hey Bob, what's up," she answered. "Yeah, I'm here now and he seems better," she smiled into the phone as Jane gave her a peevish look. The conversation was brief, and she snapped her phone shut.

"That was Kirkland. He's going to be here shortly to get a statement from you."

And that's when she saw it. For a fleeting second, that haunted look flickered in his eyes before he was able to push it into some private place. Her heart rose in her throat, but she did her best not to react.

"Is that necessary?" he asked. His tone contained no hint of the emotion she had just witnessed and they both knew the answer to his question.

It was now or never, and she knew it. "Jane," she said, locking eyes with him. "I took the CD before Kirkland's team got there. Cho knows, but nobody else."

"What CD?" Jane made a halfhearted attempt at ignorance, but he read the look on her face and realized it was futile. Relief, fear, and gratitude played simultaneously over his face and this time he didn't try to hide them from her. He grasped her hand and closed his eyes. "Thank you, Teresa," he said in a reverant whisper.

"Hey," she said, wiggling his hand to get his attention. He opened his eyes to meet her gaze, and she continued sternly. "I will do this, but promise me - we will talk about this later."

He weighed his answer for a few seconds, and then nodded.

"Promise me!" she insisted.

"Promise." His eyes were sober, and she would hold him to it - he understood this.

There was a knock on the door and in strode Bob Kirkland with one of his men. Lisbon discreetly dropped Jane's hand and moved away from his bed.

"Good morning," he greeted Jane.

"Kirkland," he acknowledged pleasantly. Lisbon marveled at how quickly Jane had gotten his game face back on. But then, she supposed, he'd had lots of practice.

"Glad to hear you're feeling better. We won't be long, but we need a statement, if you feel up to it." Kirkland wasn't here to waste time, and Jane had been with the CBI long enough to know this had to be done.

"Okay," Jane agreed. 'There's not a lot to tell."

"Good. So…what happened Thursday night?" Kirkland asked.

Lisbon could feel her body tensing in anticipation of Jane's reply.

"I was following a lead in the case and I discovered where Red John lived, but there was a possibility that someone would alert him to my discovery if I delayed. So I went to his house, hid, and waited for him. It was actually quite easy to taser him when he came home, because he wasn't expecting me. I handcuffed him to the bed, notified Lisbon, and I was waiting there, having some tea, when I thought I heard someone else in the house.

Before I could locate him, he ambushed me with a knife and got a hold of the taser as well. It was Partridge, and he was a bit excessive in his treatment of me." Jane turned to Lisbon," I must point out I was right about Partridge, Lisbon. Told you he liked his work too much." He turned back to Kirkland and continued. "When they sat me up and tied me to the bed, things got all fuzzy and I passed out. The next thing I knew, I woke up here."

So this was the way he wanted to play it. She wasn't surprised. She'd understood instinctively that evening that Jane wouldn't want anyone else to see that CD. The public shame of knowing numbers of people could and would watch the murder of his family out of curiosity would have been unthinkable for him. She desperately hoped she had done the right thing.

Kirkland readied himself to leave once he had the necessary information, and parted with a casual statement. "By the way, Jane, a psychologist will be here tomorrow afternoon to talk with you. Bertram's orders."

Just as Kirkland left, Dr. Carson and his team filed in on morning rounds, and Jane kept his eyes trained straight ahead, avoiding any eye contact with her. The doctor looked at the chart and examined Jane again.

"Your red cell count is still quite low, but we don't want to expose you to any more risks from transfusion than we have to. If you're not short of breath I think we'll let you make your own replacement red cells while you recover." He finished his perusal of the chart and continued. "If things continue to go this well, we can probably let you go home on Tuesday. You'll require a fair amount of recovery time though, and good follow up."

"Oh," Carson added, remembering something else. "It has come to my attention you'd like a regular diet. Finish one meal of clear liquids and we'll advance you to a regular diet," he motioned to the tray of Jello.

"I suppose I could eat Jello for lunch," Jane replied with more than a hint of impertinence.

"Glad to hear it," the doctor said. "We'll see you tomorrow."

When they were alone again, Jane remained silent, deep in thought, his eyes closed. When he finally opened them to look at her, his gaze was intent. "I'd like to ask a favor." _Oh no_, she thought. This was usually bad news. He continued without giving her a chance to respond. "Lisbon, would you mind if I slept on your couch for a couple of nights after I get out of here?"

She peered into his eyes, attempting unsuccessfully to read him, and mulled over his request. He couldn't go to his house in Malibu, or to his attic at the CBI, so that left a hotel as his other option. Which would work, if he got room service. Maybe, she considered, he just doesn't want to be alone, and she could surely understand that.

Even as she said it, she somehow knew she would regret her answer. "Sure. Yeah… okay." Maybe by Tuesday they would have things sorted out. And the truth was, she didn't mind the thought of taking care of him. She certainly wouldn't tell him that.

"Thank you." That killer smile spread over his face. "Oh, and would you get some proper tea, please?"

She chuckled at his audacity. "Yes, I'll get you some tea." It was worth it to see him smiling.

She stayed with Jane most of the morning, alternatively watching him nap and watching mindless TV. When they brought his lunch of blue Jello, she couldn't help but laugh at his put upon expression as he spooned the shaky stuff into his mouth. "You, my dear, are my witness," he grumbled.

After he'd eaten his "lunch," he addressed her. "Lisbon, I appreciate your sterling company, but I'm really in no shape to hold up my end of the conversation properly. I'm sure you have better things to do on your Saturday off than babysit me. Go home and do whatever it is you do, and I'll be fine here."

Was he just trying to be thoughtful, she wondered, or was he dismissing her, thereby avoiding any possible serious conversation about his statement to Kirkland? Probably the latter, she concluded, but he looked so fragile she couldn't bring herself to force the issue right now. There would be time for that soon, when he was in better shape physically.

"Will you get some sleep?" she asked.

"Yes, if these people will leave me alone long enough," he griped. "You know they wake you up to ask you if you need to sleep."

"I think you can handle them," she grinned. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. Call me if you need me."

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By eight thirty that evening Lisbon was comfortably parked on her couch in her Bears jersey, enjoying a bowl of ice cream and pretending to watch the Notre Dame/USC game. She'd stopped by the grocery on her way home from the hospital and picked up several items, including Jane's requested tea and an entire half-gallon of mint chocolate chip. She'd regret it tomorrow, but it sure tasted good right now.

She had called the hospital about dinnertime to check on Jane, and the nurse said he was "resting comfortably." He must have gotten something more substantial than Jello if he was behaving himself, she mused. Despite the good report, she kept her phone on the coffee table so she wouldn't miss any calls.

Lisbon was vaguely aware of some claps of thunder and flashes of lightning outside. Preoccupied, she barely noticed the blowing rain that began pelting her windows while she rehashed Jane's situation over and over in her head.

She couldn't have refused Jane's request to stay with her when he was discharged next week, but she was uneasy about it. She'd never admit it to him, but she was thankful Bertram had cleverly arranged for psych to see him while he was unable to flee.

Yes, she knew Jane better than anyone, but this was uncharted territory. She was positive he was lying about seeing the CD, yet she had no inkling of how much he had seen or how much it had upset him. He'd seemed relatively unaffected except for that unguarded moment when she saw the flash of despair in his eyes. Still, she couldn't ignore the fact that he'd had a full blown breakdown before. What she had seen on that CD was something no husband or father should ever see.

Even with the psych visit scheduled for tomorrow it was possible he wouldn't say a word. Then she'd really have no idea what her right course of action would be. Jane had promised her he would talk to her about it, but she wondered if she was the one he should be talking to. She was no psychiatrist and she certainly wasn't objective. What if she said something wrong?

All this uncertainty just served to make her angrier. For Jane to have made the right choice about Red John and then have this happen? It seemed so freaking unfair. And why had he made that choice? She took another bite of ice cream and allowed herself to speculate. She remembered Partridge's account of Jane's reasoning – "he didn't want to hurt the people he loved."

In her heart she knew Jane had spared Red John – the man he'd been swearing he'd kill for nine years – for her sake. There was so much implied by his action, she found it overwhelming. Jane had said he loved her once, in the heat of the moment, but then refused to acknowledge it afterward. This was something else entirely.

She let out a little "whoop" as Notre Dame intercepted a pass and then thought she heard something at her door. She muted the TV and listened. Yes, there it was again – definitely a knock. God, she hoped it wasn't Gary from next door looking for his stupid cat again. She reluctantly put her ice cream bowl on the coffee table, padded to the front door, and peered through the peephole.

"No!" she actually said out loud as she pressed her forehead against the door in disbelief. But there he was. Patrick Jane was standing outside her door, sopping wet. She flung open the door, letting the wind whip stray mists inside. "What the hell are you doing here!?" she screamed furiously as she saw the cab's tail lights disappear in the rain.

"Teresa," he pleaded softly. "Please. I seem to have badly overestimated my stamina." He was slumped against the frame of the door, propping himself upright with his good right arm. His labored breathing betrayed the effort this was costing him and his face was pinched with pain. He held his other arm gingerly against his chest. She'd never seem him look so frail. "Please. Let me lie down on your couch and then you can yell at me all you want."

"You can't just…"

He stumbled when he attempted to take a step inside and she had to lunge to keep him from falling. She wrapped his wet arm around her shoulder, kicked the door shut with her foot, and helped him across the room toward her couch. He released a damp white pharmacy bag from under his left arm and dropped it onto the coffee table.

"Antibiotics and pain pills," he explained in a little gasp. He leaned back onto the couch and closed his eyes. "Damn," he puffed. "That was close."

"Jane, you need to go back to the hospital right now!" she demanded in no uncertain terms.

"You promised me I could stay on your couch for a couple of days," he pointed out.

"Next week. After the doctor said you could be discharged." She threw up her hands. She couldn't believe he was actually here on her couch, sopping wet and shivering.

"You didn't say that. You just said…" he spoke through gritted teeth as he rearranged himself on the couch"…said I could stay."

She considered her options. She doubted she could get him out to her car by herself. If she called an ambulance, he would refuse to go. She would have to arrest him to get him back to the hospital, and as much as she might want to, she couldn't do that to him right now. And he knew it. Damn this man!

"If you're done yelling," he said, " please get me a drink of water so I can get these pain pills down."

"I'm not done yelling!" she fumed, but she fetched his water just the same. She opened the bottle of pain pills, read the directions, and gave him two. She had to help him lift the glass to his lips he was shaking so badly.

"I'm cold, Teresa." God he was pitiful. The sight of him in such a state melted her anger completely.

"You're soaked. Hang on – be right back." Lisbon trotted upstairs and returned with her bathrobe, some towels, and a pillow. She removed his old brown shoes and wet socks, and helped him sit so she could get his damp, clingy shirt off. He managed to undo his pants and slipped them down. He was a boxers man, she noted. She dried Jane's bruised body off gently, toweled his hair dry as much as possible, and helped him into the robe.

He slumped back to lie down on the couch again, now enveloped in light blue chenille. She eased a pillow under his head and pulled her afghan over him.

"You're sweet," he murmured - the pain pills had started to kick in. His eyes fluttered closed as he snuggled his head into the pillow. "Love the robe."

She sank into the chair beside him, put her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands. What the hell was she going to do now?

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Author's Preview: The next and final chapter is where the excrement finally hits the air circulator, and Jane confronts what has happened.


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own the Mentalist, and I intend no copyright infringement. This is just for fun.

**Author's Notes:** First, thanks so much to those who have left comments. It's gratifying knowing someone out there is reading my little story. I thought this would be a three chapter wrap up, but it keeps wanting to go a little farther, so I'm letting it have its head. Thank you for your patience. I'm only predicting one more chapter, but who knows? There's still a bit of a twist yet to come, so I hope you hang on for the conclusion.

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Lisbon woke early – she'd never been one to sleep in, even on weekends, and she had a lot on her mind. She showered and donned a T shirt and jeans to head down to the kitchen, but she paused at the top of her stairs. She hated to disturb Jane, yet she desperately needed her coffee. Down in her living room, Jane appeared to be lying peacefully on her couch. He looked much like he did every day at work except he lay wrapped in her own fluffy blue robe.

She tiptoed down the stairs and had nearly sneaked past without waking him when she saw it. His bottle of pain pills was lying on its side on the coffee table, and it was empty. She grabbed it to make sure, looking under the table, but there were no pills anywhere to be seen.

"God, no!" she shrieked. _Oh why had she left him here all night by himself? Was he breathing? _Her hand was inches away from his neck when Jane's eyes snapped open, startled. She froze in disbelief.

"What…?" he blinked with drowsy eyes, trying to adjust to the light, and lifted himself slightly onto one elbow. "Lisbon, what's wrong?" His brow furrowed with concern. "Are you all right?"

"I…you're…" she sputtered, now thoroughly confused.

Jane was fully awake now, and he looked at her intently. The wheels in his head were turning just like they did when he was sussing out the details of a case and she watched his expression evolve. Soon his eyes focused on the empty pill bottle she held in her hand, and an unmistakable look of hurt clouded his face. Then he raised his eyebrows and moved his head back slightly, as if he were taking in a bigger picture, but the hurt in his eyes only intensified.

He fell back flat onto the couch and stared straight up at the ceiling. "I got up in the middle of the night." His voice was cold and factual as he explained. "I was…uncomfortable…so I took the pills with me to the bathroom. I took two - just two," he emphasized, "but I'd misplaced the cap somewhere. On the way back to the couch, my hand hit the door frame and the bottle turned upside down. It was pitch dark. I decided not to pick up the pills. Wasn't sure I could get back up, to tell the truth. "

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "Jane, I'm sorry."

"Is that why you agreed to let me stay here?" he accused. Anger had seeped into his tone.

"No!" She wanted more than anything to be able to take back her hasty assumption.

"I didn't just leave the hospital, you know." He was in full defensive mode now. " I got all my follow up appointments _and_ medicines _and_ instructions. You're a better detective than that, Lisbon." Jane was angry, and he gave her no time to protest.

"Do you actually think I would do that? Here? On your couch, Teresa?" Turning toward her quickly, he attempted to roll onto his side, but the robe stayed stuck under him and caught his left shoulder tightly, pulling against it with considerable force. "Son of a bitch!" he hissed and closed his eyes.

She instantly saw the problem and reached toward him. "Lift your hips up off the couch," Lisbon commanded. He did as she asked and she pulled the robe free, releasing the pressure on his shoulder.

"Thanks," he gasped, wincing, and he cradled his left forearm with his right while he breathed through the receding pain.

Something about his arm looked wrong, and she did a double take. Her jaw dropped when she realized what was different. There was no longer a wedding ring on Patrick Jane's left hand. She tried to look away quickly, but he had already picked up on her observation.

"They were afraid my hand would swell with the surgery," he explained.

_Of course_, she thought, but then he jutted out his jaw in defiance and added, "I Ieft it off."

"Oh," Lisbon said, stunned. "Look, I'm so sorry. I saw the empty bottle - I panicked. They said you should stay in the hospital,"she pleaded her case. "Jane, I just want you to get well."

His anger had faded now and his voice was even. "Then let me stay here, with you. I want to exist for a couple of days and get my feet back under me without all that _poking_ and _prodding_. Look, I'm not physically capable of getting into any trouble. I feel safe here, Teresa."

She gulped. This was big.

"I want...I need to be someplace where I feel safe," he repeated. "With someone I trust."

"You trust me?"

"Of course. I was hoping you'd trust _me_…" his voice trailed off.

Now it was her turn to put everything together. Jane had spared Red John. He'd taken off his wedding ring. He was making an effort to take care of himself, albeit not in the hospital. He was obviously trying to move forward, and he thought he had earned her trust. And, she admitted begrudgingly, maybe he had a point.

"You know what? " she said. "Let's just start this morning over. How are you feeling this morning? Did you get any sleep?"

His expression softened. "To be perfectly honest I could use a couple more of those pills I dropped on the floor last night over there." He motioned toward the bathroom.

"Tell you what. I'll get them for you, and then I'll fix you a cup of tea."

"I'd love a cup of tea," he smiled.

"Could you eat some eggs?" she asked. That widened his grin substantially.

"I'm famished." Jane knew she was trying to make it up to him and he was going to let her.

He hadn't been lying about his hunger. He managed to sit at her kitchen table, wrapped up in her robe, and he fairly wolfed down the eggs and toast she fixed for him. Soon afterward though, he started to sag, and she helped him back to the couch.

As he settled in for another pill-induced nap, Jane made a request. "Lisbon, would you please pick up a couple of extra large flannel shirts and some track pants somewhere for me? Something with a loose waist band that won't put pressure on all these sore spots?"

_He must have forgiven her_, she smiled to herself, _because he was giving her jobs again_. She was happy to comply.

Of course, they still hadn't addressed the issue of what Red John and Partridge had done to Jane, but she found herself getting a strange feeling of optimism about all this. She was sure it would pass.

Over the next two days, Jane improved rapidly. She stayed home with him, despite his insistence that he could manage. By the time she took him to his follow up appointment on Tuesday afternoon he was off the strong pain meds, and he could walk to the car without moving like an invalid.

The doctor was pleased with his progress and Jane insisted it was due to the superior care he had received from her. It was way over the top as only Jane could do, but she appreciated it just the same. On the way back to her place, however, there was tense silence in the car.

"So," he finally said, " I should get my things and check into the hotel I guess. I can get Cho to bring me my car."

"You know, you shouldn't be driving yet. I have to go in tomorrow, but you're welcome to stay until you're steadier. I really don't want you out there endangering the lives of the people of Sacramento." Jane wanted to stay, she knew. Okay, she wanted Jane to stay, too. They still hadn't had the conversation he'd promised her about the CD, after all. She had a perfectly justifiable reason to want to keep him there.

"Are you sure? " he asked. "I don't want to be a bother. I'm up and about."

"You've been a bother since the moment I met you. Why stop now?" she teased.

"I'll fix dinner and I'll pick up some old movies to watch, if you'd like. And some ice cream."

"I get to choose the movie," she insisted.

"Absolutely. The lady's choice." He bowed his head slightly in deference.

"Done."

Her eyes remained on the road, but she knew that Cheshire cat grin was plastered all over his face.

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Wednesday back at work was a long day for Lisbon, but a good one. The team was golden with the higher ups, Brenda was preening like a peacock, and the rank and file treated them like rock stars. They had bagged a big one this time. She was quite late getting home though, and Jane's "cooking" consisted of his ordering take out Chinese. Still, it was great to have it all ready and waiting for her. Jane was asleep on the couch before ten and she turned in soon afterward.

Thursday was a less punishing day and she was home by six. Jane had been to the grocery (she would have to scold Cho for bringing over his car) and he had a simple meal of baked salmon, rice, and vegetables cooked. They talked about everything except work as they ate their meal, and she marveled at what good company he was when he wasn't driving her crazy.

On Friday morning he saw her off to work. Those blue green eyes twinkled when he promised something special for Friday evening's dinner. Her workday turned out to be relatively quiet, and between stacks of paperwork she found herself looking forward to whatever crazy plan Jane had in store for her.

The traffic was gnarled on the way home due to an accident and Lisbon amused herself by channel surfing the radio. Every weatherman and woman in Sacramento was worked into a lather about a big storm approaching the area. The drive seemed to take forever, but when she finally opened her apartment door, the smell of Italian food flooded her senses.

"Lis - bonnnn?!" Jane called from the kitchen. He appeared around the corner in his oversized blue and green flannel shirt, blue track pants and tennis shoes. His hair was tousled and his eyes were full of mischievous excitement. He looked so different from the contained, vested showman she had worked with for the past several years. Was this a glimpse of the Patrick Jane who lived underneath all of those layers of guilt – the man behind the mask? She took a rare moment to appreciate just how attractive he was. Maybe she shouldn't be thinking these thoughts…or should she?

"Teresa, there you are!" he said, delighted. "Go put on your Friday clothes, my dear."

"So I gather it's Italian night?" she observed.

"Brilliant deduction. You really should consider police work. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Now upstairs with you, woman!" he shooed her toward the stairs.

The mingling smells of garlic, onions and basil were making her mouth water and she wasted no time heading up to do exactly as she was told. She did steal a glance in the mirror to make sure her hair was in order before she reappeared downstairs.

Jane had outdone himself. Her little kitchen table was covered with a white tablecloth and in the center was a small vase of fresh flowers. There were two places set, and salads were served. A bottle of red wine sat already opened, and her nose informed her that the basket of bread on the table was full of warm garlic bread.

He made a show of pulling out her chair for her and she decided to just go with it. After she was seated, he snapped open a paper napkin and placed it across her lap with flourish. She had to grin. The man had style. When he saw he had pleased her, a smile lit up his face. She was truthful when she told him it was the best marinara she had ever tasted, which of course delighted him to no end.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" she asked, as a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.

"Angela's grandmother was Italian."

Panic flickered inside her. He never referred to his wife by her name. She searched his eyes for that familiar haunted look but all she saw was an open calmness. "It's okay," his expression seemed to say.

"Here, let's finish up the wine," he insisted, and he poured a last half a glass for each of them.

Lisbon raised her glass for a toast. "Thank you for this," she said. "It was delicious."

He clinked her glass with his. "Just trying to earn my keep."

"Paid in full, then," she said with a smile.

A hint of sadness crossed his face and he replied gently, "Never." He let the word linger and hesitated before he took a sip from his glass. "To you, Teresa."

She felt a wave of warmth travel up through her body and she was positive she was blushing.

Jane noticed her discomfort but chose not to tease her. Instead, he rescued her promptly. "Let's clear the table." He flipped back into showman mode. "I have rented, for your viewing pleasure, some old movies. Shall we retire to the living room?"

Just then a loud rumble of thunder sounded outside. Lisbon pulled the kitchen curtains back only to see a brilliant flash of lightning, followed a few seconds later by another clap of thunder. "It's getting closer," she said. "This is supposed to be a big one."

"Meh, let it rain," he scoffed as he stacked dishes in the sink.

Soon they were seated on the couch. The storm was fast approaching and frequent thunder shook the windows. Jane was unperturbed, and produced a plastic bag full of DVD's. "I got several genres. I wasn't sure what you would want to watch – who knew what mood you would be in?"

Lisbon sat back and let him put on his show.

"_Fawlty Towers _for our comedy selection," he said, holding up the DVD for her perusal.

"I've never seen that," she admitted. "Isn't that the one with the Monty Python guy?"

"Yes, and you certainly need to see it at some point, if not tonight." Jane pulled out the next DVD. "_Die Hard_ is the evening's action choice," he noted.

"Yipee ti yi yay!" she laughed.

"_Shawshank Redemption_ covers inspirational drama. _My Fair Lady_ for the musical option. _Casablanca_ in the classics category." He was watching her face carefully and she knew her choice would have some great significance to him.

"_My Fair Lady,"_ she decided. She hadn't seen that for many years, and she loved Rex Harrison's curmudgeonly portrayal of Higgins.

"It's 'enry 'iggins, the 'orses' ass," he quipped, but she knew immediately that her choice had pleased him.

Jane loaded the disc and had just situated himself back on the couch beside her, when a bright flash was followed almost instantly by a startling crash of thunder. It made them both jump. The lights flickered once, twice, and then went off entirely. They had lost power.

Lisbon sprang into action. "I've got a candle." In no time she had it flickering on the coffee table in front of them. Not much light, but enough for her to see how disappointed he was that his grand plan had been thwarted.

"Hey, you know, I've got my laptop," she piped up. "We could just watch it on that until the power comes back on."

"Um….I'd rather…not," his voice trailed off.

_Oh my God_, she realized, _how could she have been so stupid_? _What had she been thinking?_ "I'm sorry…" she started. For an instant, she wanted to kick herself. She looked at Jane's face in the dim light and suddenly it dawned on her - this was her opening – her opportunity. She took a deep breath, said a silent prayer, and asked the question: "How much of it did you see?"

"Why none, Lisbon, Ms. Hepburn has not sung the first note."

She didn't allow his sidestep. "Patrick." She used his given name to get his attention. "You promised me."

She expected more clever excuses, but instead he acknowledged her request, gathered himself, and looked her squarely in the eye. "Some." The words came slowly. "After they tied me to the bed, he started the recording. I closed my eyes, but I could still hear." He cleared his throat. "Partridge kept kicking me, but I wouldn't watch. Finally he put the tape on my eyes but by then I was pretty much done in. I saw some of it and then I passed out." He dropped his eyes and stared at the floor.

Lisbon reached for his hand, and to her surprise, he welcomed her touch. "I can't imagine," she said quietly.

Jane lifted his head and looked at her again. "The truth is, Teresa, I'd already played that scene thousands of times in my head," he admitted. "There's a reason I don't sleep."

She knew about his insomnia, of course, and she'd assumed the cause. But somehow hearing him say it broke her heart all over again.

"I destroyed the CD," she told him. "I stomped it into little bits and threw them away."

His next question was delivered with great control. "You watched it though, didn't you?"

Lisbon's heart sank. He knew her too well. She couldn't deny this, and she nodded, "yes."

Jane's grip on her hand tightened just a little. "Was um…was Charlotte on it?" he asked, watching her intently.

She flinched at his question, but she didn't dare break his gaze. This was a pivotal moment and she couldn't falter now. She swallowed hard. "Yes."

His breathing quickened and even in the low light, she saw the flash of pain shoot through his eyes. "How bad?" He squeezed her hand, trying to hold himself together, and choked out, "How long?" Jane closed his eyes, bracing himself.

She was glad she no longer had to look him in the eye. "Not very long. She woke up and she knew something wasn't right, but she was still sleepy and not fully aware." _God this was the most difficult thing she'd ever had to say. _"He…the cut to her throat was fast and deep and she was gone quickly - in a few seconds."

His head lolled to the side and his whole body sagged. Then Lisbon did something she'd wanted to do so many times before – she reached out, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him tightly to her. He broke down in her arms.

Jane cried uncontrollably, shaking with gasping sobs, and he clung to her fiercely. She held him for a long time, rubbing his back in circles, trying to soothe him. She offered no words – there was nothing she could say. Lisbon sat quietly in the dark, listening to him cry as the thunder moved farther and farther away.

Later, when his sobs subsided, his arms remained tight around her. Only when he eased his grip did she do the same. He sat back on the couch and rubbed his eyes. He was clearly in need of a tissue.

"My head hurts," he said, sniffling.

"Be right back." She returned with a box of tissues, a couple of Advils, and a glass of water.

"Thanks," he said with gratitude. He swallowed the pills and made use of the tissues.

She sat down beside him on the couch, put a pillow in her lap and gently instructed him, "Here." She patted the pillow. "Come on. Lie down."

After a second of hesitation, he obediently lowered his head to the pillow and stretched out on the couch. She arranged the afghan over him and he closed his eyes. Soon his deep, even breathing told her he was asleep. She was glad. This would give her time to think.

The power was still off when his eyes blinked open again. Jane looked up at her and asked, "How long…" he cleared his throat again. "How long did I sleep?"

"Not long. Thirty, forty minutes. How's your head?"

"Much better." He rose and sat beside her in silence for a few moments. When he finally spoke, his words were significant. "That was years ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was." Again she waited patiently, sensing he had something else to say.

"You know, Teresa, you never asked how I found Red John, did you? You wanted to, but then you'd have to bring up…that" he waved his hand around, "…whole scene, and you were too concerned about my mental state."

She hated it when he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Such a lack of faith, Lisbon," he said without malice, and then he dropped a bomb. "It was Lorelei."

Her mouth fell open.

"She called me and told me I was right about Red John. He was using her. She gave him to me, Lisbon. Name, workplace, residence – everything. She said she was moving to South Africa to start a new life, and that I shouldn't ever contact her. And then she thanked me, wished me luck, and hung up.

I know that business in Las Vegas hurt you, and I am truly sorry it hurt you. But without that," Jane lifted his finger for emphasis. "Red John would still be out there, Lisbon. And I wouldn't have the opportunity I have right now."

"What opportunity is that?" She held her breath.

"I want you to be able to stop worrying about my sanity." His eyes were clear and his tone earnest. "I want another chance for happiness. What I really want, is the chance to tell you that I …"

He never finished the thought, because suddenly all the lights blazed on, jolting both of them.

The intimacy of the moment was lost, and Jane recalibrated instantly. "What I really want…" he repeated,"…is the opportunity to watch this movie with you, my dear." He lifted the remote and motioned his head toward the DVD player, his expression a question mark. _Maybe she had asked enough of him for one evening,_ she thought. She shrugged and nodded, and he hit play.

Without another word, they sat side by side on the couch and watched _My Fair Lady._

Somewhere in the middle of the movie, he slipped his arm around her shoulder. She didn't resist. In fact, she let herself snuggle into his side. It felt natural. It felt right. And when Rex Harrison sang, "I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face," she didn't have to look up at Jane to know he was smiling.

As the credits rolled, she said, "He's such an asshole."

"Most definitely, " Jane agreed. "But she'd never be happy with that white bread Freddie, would she?"

"Maybe you're right," she gave him a teasing glance and he responded by flashing that megawatt grin of his. She was glad to see it again.

When Lisbon stood up, however, the exhaustion on his face was evident, and he didn't protest when she suggested he turn in for the evening. By the time she reached the landing at the top of her stairs, Jane was snoring softly on the couch.

She lay awake in her own bed for a long time, thinking. The evening had been intense, but she decided that in many ways, it had gone relatively well. She felt like she had done the right thing, that she had helped him somehow, and that made her feel good. Maybe Jane had actually turned the corner. Maybe he had found the closure he needed.

She also thought about how natural it felt when she had molded into his body while they watched the movie. She thought about that a lot.

_What had he been about to say when the lights came on,_ she wondered. She had an idea, and it pleased her and frightened her all at the same time.

It was a long time before Teresa Lisbon was able to get to sleep.

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Preview: Will they or won't they?

(Constructive criticism is welcomed. I'm always trying to improve my writing.)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist, and I am only playing with these wonderful creations of Mr. Heller's because it is fun. I am not making any money from this in any way shape or form.

Author's notes: A huge thank you to the guests who left comments because I was not able to thank you personally. You made my day/week! I sincerely appreciate everyone's encouragement on this story. This chapter was a bit harder for me to write because it has a lot of backstory and I hope that doesn't make it tedious to read. Things will get moving next chapter (which is half written already), I promise, and I predict two more chapters will round this one out. Again, thanks for reading.

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The clock said three seventeen when Lisbon got up to go to the bathroom. On the way back to bed, she noticed a thin line of light shining under her bedroom door, and that meant one thing - Jane must be up.

She wrapped herself in her reclaimed robe and padded down the stairs toward the light in the kitchen. Jane sat slumped over his teacup, both elbows resting on the table, with his arms crossed in front of him.

He lifted his head slightly to the side, acknowledging her presence. His eyes were closed, his face lined with weariness, and it made her heart ache to see him so threadbare. Lisbon walked over to stand behind him and placed a hand on his right shoulder. He lifted his left hand to cover hers and took in a deep breath. Then he exhaled and opened his eyes, glancing back at her.

All she could do was be with him. Lisbon shifted to his side, sliding her hand down his arm. She tugged gently, beckoning him to rise and follow her. His movements were dull with fatigue, but he allowed her to lead him back into the living room.

Releasing his hand, she lay down on the couch and scooted against the back cushion to make room for him. He folded himself into the space she'd made, nestling his back against her. It was chilly in the room and she arranged the afghan over them both. Then she reached around him, being careful not to put pressure on his injured ribs. When he grasped her hand and tucked it tight to his chest, she was thankful he couldn't see the tears in her eyes. But soon they were warm, and soon after that, sleep came to them both.

The sound of her ringing phone jarred Lisbon awake much too early. The phone still sat upstairs on her nightstand where she'd left it, so she scrambled gingerly over Jane, making it halfway up the steps before he stirred. She missed the call, but Cho's number flashed and that meant one thing. They were up.

She returned his call immediately. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she had all the details she needed.

Jane was sitting upright on the couch, stretching. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fit as a fiddle." He winced as his broken ribs caught. Lisbon marveled at how he could appear so unaffected after the night he'd just had. But then, she reflected sadly, he'd been doing this for years.

"I cannot believe we caught a case less than an hour after we got put back in rotation," she griped.

"Crime never sleeps, Lisbon."

_And neither to you_, she wanted to add, but she thought better of it. "I've got to get dressed - it's at least an hour and a half drive down past Angel's Camp." Ten minutes later she was showered, assembled, and ready to go. When she came down the stairs, Lisbon was shocked to see Jane sitting on the couch waiting for her, neatly dressed in one of his vested suits, his blonde curls neatly coifed.

"What do you think _you're_ doing?"

"Going with you, of course. There's work to be done. Criminals to be caught. Justice to be served."

"Ooooh, no you don't. Jane, you haven't been medically cleared to go back to work and if you're seen at the CBI- let alone on a crime scene - I will get in a buttload of trouble. You're staying here."

He sensed she meant business. "Let me ride with you, at least. I'll stay in the car."

That earned him nothing but a glowering look. "I promise." He lifted both hands, showing her his palms.

"No."

"Please?" he whined. "Liisbooonn, I need to get out of the house. It's a gorgeous drive out that way."

Why did she have absolutely no backbone when it came to this man? "You'll really stay in the car?" she asked pointedly. "As in, not getting out?"

"Cross my heart." He made a little "x" across his chest with his index finger and smiled.

"Oh, okay," she groaned. Experience warned her she would regret this, but maybe it _would_ do him some good. "Let's go."

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The sky was bright and blue after last night's storm, and the scenery along their route was fresh and beautiful indeed.

Jane babbled about anything and everything the whole way to the crime scene – the weather, microclimates, the heart rate of hummingbirds._ Where does he get all this stuff? _she wondered. Yes, he read constantly, but his memory palace must surely be crammed to overflowing with these details by now.

She knew _why _he was doing it, of course. It was very likely that last night was the first time Jane had allowed himself to be vulnerable in the presence of another human being since his stint in the psych ward, years ago. Now he was skittish, nervous about his exposure, and hoping to steer her away from anything approaching a serious conversation. Jane rubbed his fingers against one another absently in his one true tell - he was anxious. He had taught her too well, she thought with some satisfaction.

"Did you know that this is the Calavaras County that Mark Twain wrote his short story about, Lisbon? The famous jumping frog?"

"You and your jumping frogs."

"It's a brilliant story, Lisbon, a great con." He spent the rest of their journey telling her the entire story. At least this was more interesting than soil microclimates, so she offered him the occasional chuckle and nod of the head to keep him going.

When they finally arrived at the scene, the rest of the team was already there, as were several local policemen. She parked on the country road, fifty yards from where the house stood. The picturesque two-story farmhouse was flanked by various neatly kept barns and sheds, and scattered oaks shaded the surrounding grassy fields.

Jane rolled down his window and waved to Van Pelt and Rigsby, who walked over to the SUV to chat.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Jane. How's it going?" Rigsby asked.

"Fine, thanks. Better every day."

Lisbon gathered her things and stepped out of the vehicle, and then continued past Van Pelt and Rigsby toward the front of the house where Cho waited. The other two agents hesitated, waiting for Jane to get out.

"Oh, go ahead, I won't be coming today. I'm not allowed. Lisbon made me promise," he explained. "Can't get out of the car."

"Since when did that stop you?" Van Pelt quipped.

Jane dropped his eyes.

"C'mon you two, let's get this done," Lisbon called to them, and the group headed behind the house to check out the body.

Van Pelt's words had elicited more than enough guilt to keep him in the car, but after forty five minutes of waiting, Jane began to fidget. Still, he _had_ promised, and this was hardly the time to start breaking his word to Teresa Lisbon. He'd just reached down to put the seat back to nap, when he saw a moving figure beside one of the small outbuildings in the distance. The person was hidden from view of the team and other personnel around the house, but was easily seen from Jane's vantage point.

The man – it looked like a man - was carrying a bag of some sort, and kept glancing from side to side suspiciously.

Jane reached for his phone. "Lisbon, there's a person of dubious activity behind the small black barn to the south of the house. You can't see him from where you are. If I were asked to venture a guess, I'd say he's trying to escape with the murder weapon."

Cho and Rigsby came flying around the corner of the house and soon spotted the man. He broke into a run at the sight of the agents, but they apprehended him easily.

Jane smiled, pushed the button to fully recline his seat, and closed his eyes.

Some time later, when Lisbon climbed back into the driver's seat, Jane didn't say a word. In fact, he turned his head toward his window to hide the amusement on his face.

"Go ahead, say it."

"Oh, come on Lisbon, you would have gotten the guy, it simply might have taken a few minutes longer."

"You're just making it worse. Say it."

"I'd like to point out that I did not set foot outside this vehicle. I did _exactly_ as I promised you I would."

"Fine." She started the engine and pulled onto the road.

"Lisbon?"

"What?"

"I need to use the restroom. And I'm hungry. And thirsty."

"Lord give me strength."

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After a stop at a pleasant little roadside diner - eggs for him, carbs for her - they were back on their way to Sacramento. And Jane was babbling again, rubbing his fingers like crazy.

"That little boy on the porch back there – he's gonna be a good cop. Did you notice him?" With a sweeping motion, he offered her a drink from the giant cup of Coke he'd brought with him from the diner. She declined and Jane resumed talking. "He was very observant and he was emulating Rigsby's every move. I predict he will be one of Angel's Camp's finest someday."

She had to figure out a way to let him know that everything that had happened last night was okay – that he had nothing to be ashamed of – that she thought no less of him for it. And she had to do it soon, before his incessant chatter drove her completely batty.

"When did you first know you wanted to be a cop, Lisbon?"

Of course! Just like that, the solution came to her – but it would require her to step out of her own comfort zone as well. It was worth it, she decided. Lisbon adopted a somber tone and lowered her voice slightly, "Can I tell you something I've never told anyone?"

"Why certainly, Teresa. I'd be touched."

"You already know the first part of this. When I was twelve, after my mom was killed, my dad became a drunk. When he got loaded, sometimes he would smack my brothers around. It was…horrible.

Then during the spring of my senior year, I took this self-defense course – paid for it myself – cost me fifty bucks. I learned all kinds of moves. How to take care of myself."

Lisbon took a deep breath. She really _hadn't_ told this next part to anyone before and it proved harder to get out than she had anticipated. But she couldn't stop now.

"One night after that, Dad went off on Tommy for some little picky thing and hit him really hard. Tommy was screaming and crying, and I just snapped. I threw my dad on the ground and pinned him and told him if he ever touched my brothers again I'd kill him. He never hit them again after that, but he started drinking even more and a year later he..." she paused as her voice hitched. "He killed himself. Swallowed a bottle of pills."

Jane inhaled sharply in surprise.

"I wanted to feel…I wanted to feel sad, but I was just angry. Maybe I still am."

He touched her arm. "You know it wasn't your fault, but you still feel you could have saved him."

"Yeah, I guess," she agreed. "I dunno," she shook her head, dismissing the dilemma. "Anyway, that was when I decided I wanted to be a cop. Sitting on top of my stinking drunk father, holding him in a shoulder lock."

"You wanted to have the power to save people. That's admirable. You know you saved your brothers, Teresa. You kept your family together."

He paused for a few seconds before he added quietly, "You saved me."

"Jane, it could have been Cho, or Rigsby…" she started to protest, but he interrupted her.

"No, I don't mean the other day. Much earlier than that. Everybody I met felt sorry for me, Teresa – they meant well but the wave of pity was exhausting, and frankly, unhelpful. You gave me a job. You helped me get some confidence back and find a way to be useful. And eventually, a lot more than that."

"I…you…you have a gift. I just…"

"Don't get all uncomfortable, now, Lisbon. I'm telling you the truth. Look at me - you can trust me. Sometimes you need to be reminded." He took a big draw on his giant cup of soda, slurping loudly. "Okay," he said, "you showed me yours, I'll show you mine. That's the play here, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" she feigned ignorance, but he was onto her and he was about to do the very same thing to her that she'd just done to him.

"You know that psychiatrists _always_ want to know about a person's mother, Lisbon. Did I ever tell you about my mother?" he asked, knowing full well he hadn't.

"No, not really. You said she was British?"

A hint of bitterness tinged his short answer. "Yes, she was."

"Was?"

"She stayed until I was about five. I remember her as warm and funny and I loved her, because children love their mothers. But she and my father fought constantly. I spent a lot time in the cabinet under the sink with my hands over my ears."

He delivered the tale with clinical detachment, but Lisbon could picture a terrified little blond boy, hunched in the cabinet, trying to escape the conflict around him.

"Then one day my dad told me my grandfather had come to visit and that he wanted to talk to me. This strange man, who was apparently my grandfather, sat me down in the trailer. He was tall and well dressed and smelled like pipe tobacco. He introduced himself and said that I had ruined his daughter's life, that she'd stayed here long enough, and that now she was going back to England with him, where she belonged. My father would look after me from now on, my grandfather said.

And then he walked out of the trailer, and I never saw him or my mother again."

"Jesus!" The exclamation escaped her lips.

"Actually his name was Oliver Rothschild." Jane pronounced the name with a upper class British accent.

"Years later, when I was a teenager, Victor – the horse trainer - told me the whole story. My mother was eighteen and travelling across the United States with her parents on summer holiday. They visited our carnival on a whim, and my father managed to charm her into bed. She literally ran away with the circus - with him."

Jane took another draw on his drink. "Apparently her plan was to spend a wild, rebellious summer in the states with this carnival man, and then go back home with her parents in September, full of exotic and exciting tales to tell her friends. Turns out, she got pregnant almost immediately, and she decided to stay with my father. Who was not thrilled with the idea of having a kid in tow.

She stayed as long as she could, Victor said. My father was unfaithful, no surprise there, and verbally abusive. Finally she called "daddy" in England and he would only take her back without me. Since I was big enough to be useful in my father's acts, he agreed to keep me."

"Oh Jane," she sympathized. "You never heard from her? Never looked for her?"

"No." He shook his head and sighed. "You know, I was so sure I would be a better parent than that…"

Leaving her left hand on the steering wheel, she kept her eyes on the road ahead as she reached across the console for his hand.

"We're a pair, aren't we?" she chuckled mirthlessly.

A moment passed and then, treading very carefully, he asked, "Are we?" The loaded question hung in the space between them, and she turned sideways in the seat to look at him. His eyes were solemn and hopeful.

Suddenly a loud "Brrrrrrrr!" filled the vehicle - the grumbling sound of their tires on gravel as they veered off onto the shoulder.

"Lisbon, the road!" he screeched.

"Dammit!" She jerked the car back onto the pavement. A short way down the highway, she located a wide pull off and guided the vehicle carefully off the road. She came to a quick stop, yanked the transmission into "Park," and immediately turned back to him.

Jane stared at her intently, his lips slightly parted, his breathing shallow and quick. He was scared, and it wasn't just because of her driving. She held his gaze and they slowly and deliberately leaned in toward one another.

When they were finally close enough, he turned his head slightly to kiss her, his lips hesitant, tender. Asking. Then he pulled back a mere millimeter, his breath warm on her mouth. She didn't retreat but instead found his lips with hers. Answering. He tasted sweet and familiar, like home. When their lips parted, he reached up to gently tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear, and the corners of his mouth rose in a gentle smile.

The ring of Lisbon's phone startled them, and they both snapped back upright in their seats. With a look of genuine apology, she flipped her phone open. "What's up, Cho?"

Apparently the case had grown tentacles and was becoming more complicated and far reaching by the minute. She was needed at headquarters immediately. They rode in contemplative silence the rest of the way back to Sacramento, but when Lisbon dropped Jane off at her apartment, he ventured a quick peck on her cheek as he got out of the car. She promised to call about dinner, but they both knew she would probably never get home in time.

On her way to headquarters, she lamented the highly unsatisfying and open conclusion to an eventful afternoon. _What would become of this?_ she pondered as she pulled into the CBI parking space.

She was excited. She was terrified.

She was in love with Patrick Jane.

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Next chapter preview: Crossing the line.


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own the Mentalist, because if I did, this would have happened long ago. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: Thank you very much to the kind reviewers. You keep me up late writing when I should be sleeping and I'm glad. I love knowing what I've written is entertaining people. I've struggled a bit with this chapter, trying to avoid "smarmy/cheesy" and yet quote a song. I'd appreciate any opinions on whether it worked. (honest ones)

This story is rated T, and I will respect that rating both in this chapter and the last one. Your imagination will have to do the rest.

Also, if you've never heard the song "Dance Me to the End of Love" written and sung by Leonard Cohen, do me a huge favor (pretty, pretty please) and go to youtube and at least get a feel for it. (I tried to link it here but seems I can't - the live version is the best - posted by yalabeniyalayar) It will make this story orders of magnitude better. Plus, it's a magical song. 6.3 million views can't be for nothing.

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It was after seven when she finally called him, and she had to duck out of the observation room to do so.

"Hello, Lisbon, having fun?" he answered.

"This case has turned into a nightmare. There are at least two, maybe three suspected accomplices and one of them is Representative Barclay's nephew. Overtime is approved indefinitely. It's a mess.

"I would offer to help but I'm not allowed," he pointed out petulantly.

"You're not missing anything on this one, that's for sure. All work, no play."

Several seconds of silence passed. "Jane?" She was torn by the need to get back in that room to hear what Rigsby was getting out of this guy and her personal need to know what Jane was thinking.

When he spoke, it wasn't what she wanted to hear. "Listen, Lisbon, in the morning I'm going to head out of town for a couple of days. I have some things to take care of. I'll be back later in the week."

_What?_ she wanted to scream. _After this afternoon? No!_ she thought, _you can't run away now. Oh please, Jane, don't disappear back down into your hole and hide. Not now. You've come so far_. She was furious that she was stuck there at work and couldn't go sort this out with him. She didn't know what to say.

When she didn't respond, Jane asked, "You're going to be tied up all week anyway, aren't you?"

The confounding thing about this was that he was right – she probably wouldn't have any free time for days. "Yes, but…" she checked herself. Maybe she was overreacting. Then again, maybe not. Maybe this lurching in her gut was correct.

Before she could say anything else, Cho opened the door and motioned for her to return. "You need to hear this, Boss."

_Damn._ "I'm sorry, Jane I gotta go."

"I understand. I heard Cho. I'll be back at the end of the week."

He didn't provide details, which usually meant she wasn't supposed to ask. She was defeated. If she asked, she was intruding, and if she didn't ask, she was left to wrestle with her paranoia. In the end, all she said was, "Take care of yourself."

"Good luck catching the bad guys, Lisbon."

She snapped her phone shut and followed Cho back into the observation room.

It was after midnight when she got home, and Jane was curled up on the couch, dead to the world. _What a time for him to be sleeping well_, she thought, with a pang of guilt. She could hardly justify waking him so she could ask "_Hey Jane, do you regret kissing me?" _Right. She sheepishly even tried willing him awake.

But he never stirred, even when she stomped up the stairs. And if he was up during the night, he was careful not to turn on the light.

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When she got up the next morning, Jane was already gone. She found a pot of hot coffee waiting in the kitchen with a note:

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"Dear Teresa,

Here's your Sunday morning caffeine, which you will no doubt require if you are to make it through work today. You must have been quite late last night. Thank you for your hospitality. You've been very kind. I'll be in touch.

Your loyal consultant, Patrick Jane"

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_Hardly a love note now, was it?_ She stormed out of the house in frustration and had serious trouble obeying the speed limit on the way to work. When she got out of her vehicle at the CBI, she slammed the door so hard a passerby stared. The first interview today was hers, and she felt sorry for the suspect. Fortunately soon the rhythm of work took over and completely occupied her thoughts.

In the early afternoon, someone ordered sandwiches and Lisbon sat with her team, going over reports as they ate. The conversation drifted to Jane.

"Hey Boss, Jane sure looked a lot better on Saturday. Any word on when he'll be back?" Van Pelt asked.

"He goes back for blood work Friday, I think. But he actually left town on a trip this morning."

"Really? He could barely walk a week ago. To do what?" Rigsby asked. "He _never _goes anywhere."

"He goes to Malibu sometimes," Cho said without inflection.

"I don't know for sure." Lisbon replied. "He didn't mention a destination."

"Do you think he's okay, Boss?" Van Pelt asked, understanding the possible implications of Cho's observation. It was a valid question, given what Jane had been through.

"He'll be fine, Grace," she assured Van Pelt. In truth, it was herself she was trying to convince. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cho and Rigsby exchange concerned glances.

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Managing this case left Lisbon little time to fret, and the next three days passed in a blur. Jane did call her on Tuesday morning while she was in a meeting with Bertram and Representative Barclay. He left a message on voice mail:

"Hi Lisbon, this is turning out to be a touch more difficult than I had anticipated. It'll be at least Wednesday night before I get back in town. Don't wait up."

She had no idea what to make of that. On the way home Wednesday night, she picked up Chinese for two, just in case. When he hadn't shown up by eight, Lisbon stood at her kitchen counter and ate her food cold out of the little white boxes. She stared at Jane's empty teacup by the sink and hoped to God he was all right.

He finally called about nine o'clock. "Hey, Lisbon, how goes it? Home yet? Figured you'd be late." He sounded…well…normal.

"Got home a hour ago," she replied.

"How's the case going?"

"It's a pain in the ass, but I think we'll have it all tied up by Friday afternoon. How are things with you?" She had a feeling he wouldn't reveal much, and she was right.

"Somewhat complicated but I should be back tomorrow night. Would you like to have dinner? I can pick something up if you'd like. You'd prefer to relax at home, I assume.

"Okay." _I'd be a lot less stressed if I wasn't worrying about you – if you'd just tell me what's going on_.

"We could watch a movie – get your mind off work?"

"Okay." _Maybe a horror film about some crazy guy who runs off to sleep in a house with a bloody face looking down at him and keeps his feelings locked in a box,_ she thought sarcastically. _Oh was that snippy? So sorry._

"Lisbon, is everything all right?" She immediately felt guilty for her thoughts when she heard the real concern in his voice.

"I'm fine. It's just this case," she lied.

"See you tomorrow then."

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Thursday afternoon she got a text from him:

"ETA 7:30. I'll bring dinner." Thank goodness the waiting was almost over.

When she got home at six thirty, Lisbon showered and put on that green shirt that Jane liked so much. While she waited, she speculated about the many ways this evening could go.

She tried to prepare herself for the possibility she feared the most – that Jane would show up having slipped back into his own personal hell of self-loathing, and tell her that Saturday was an unfortunate mistake. Then he would apologize and tell her how he just couldn't bring himself to move on, and beg her to still be his friend. He would break her heart, and proceed to punish himself for that, too.

When seven thirty rolled around, Lisbon literally began to pace around her apartment, but the knock on her door finally came ten minutes later. She steeled herself for what she might see when she opened the door, only to find that her fears were unfounded.

Jane was standing on her doorstep, sporting a big smile and a sunburn. The relief on her face must have been obvious, which of course, Jane picked up on instantly.

"Oh come on now, I'm fine, Lisbon. Really, your lack of trust wounds me, my dear. I return bearing gifts." His eyes twinkled as he produced a pizza box from behind his back.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed when she saw the name on the box. "Giordano's?! Is it real?" It was her favorite pizza place from her years growing up in Chicago.

"Very real, but unfortunately very cold by now. I think we can remedy that with the microwave easily enough."

She ushered him into the kitchen and retrieved a couple of beers from the fridge. It was sad, she reflected, that all it took was a pizza to erase all her concerns. It wasn't just that, of course. Jane seemed no worse for wear and there was something a little different about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. A lightness, maybe? And then there was that stripe of white paint on the outside of his hand that he must have missed – the clue that let her know what he'd been up to in Malibu.

She checked the receipt taped to the box. "Oh, it's a Popeye!" she squeaked. Spinach and mushroom was one of their specialties. "I have to ask. Where did you find this?"

"Malibu. The place had just opened – apparently the Chicago franchise is branching out."

Even as he spoke, he was reading her, and he narrowed his eyes. "You suspected I was at the house, and that's what was bothering you, wasn't it? Not a reason to worry, Teresa," he assured her. "But thanks."

The microwave beeped as the aroma of pizza filled the kitchen.

"So - how about a comedy tonight?" he asked..

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From Lisbon's point of view, the funniest thing about the movie was watching Jane laugh. He giggled, he guffawed, and at one point he was laughing so hard he was gasping for breath, which did his ribs no favors. It occurred to her that she'd never seen Patrick Jane really laugh before. Oh, she'd seen him amused, she'd heard him chuckle, she'd seen him delighted…but a full out belly laugh? This was a first.

She knew she was glimpsing a part of him that he'd kept buried for years, and it supported her hope that he was still capable of living a happy life - that it wasn't too late. And whatever he had been doing the past few days, he _had_ come back to her. That had to count for something.

They sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch, and sometime late in the film, he slipped his arm around her. Lisbon relaxed against his chest, and found the steady rise and fall of his breathing comforting.

Cuddling had never really been part of Teresa Lisbon's repertoire. She enjoyed sex, sure, but she had a default protective setting - one that normally caused her to shy away from all of the mushy, handholding business of a relationship. So why wasn't it kicking in now? What was so different about this man that completely disarmed her? How could he both drive her crazy, and yet make her feel so at home in his presence? She pondered that thought even as her eyelids drooped.

The next thing she knew, Jane was rubbing her shoulder gently. "Wake up, Teresa. It's past your bedtime." She staggered upstairs to her bed and was asleep again as soon as her head hit the pillow. She dreamt she had arrested Oliver Rothschild for drunk driving, and after she had him cuffed, she punched him. Hard.

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The case wrapped up on Friday afternoon, but Barclay's nephew ended up getting off on a technicality. She hated it when one of the bad guys got away, and consequently she arrived home in quite a funk. She spat out a curse as she searched for her keys, which proved unnecessary, because Jane opened the door wide to greet her. He was all smiles in his casual blue striped shirt and jeans, and he dangled a letter-sized piece of paper in front of him, displaying it proudly for her to see. He reminded her of a giant, wagging puppy with a new toy.

"Lisbon, look what I've got," he teased as he snapped the paper back when she reached for it.

Even in her foul mood she found it impossible not to smile at his antics.

He pretended to read the letter, "As of today, November 18th, Patrick Jane can go to the CBI anytime he wants without getting Special Agent Lisbon into trouble."

She snatched it while he was gloating and read out loud, "No strenuous physical activity, no lifting over twenty pounds, no sassing the boss…"

"Since when have I ever done any physical activity as a CBI consultant?" he asked.

"Good point. Wait. You moved the couch."

"I had help," he grinned. "Seriously, I can come back to work now, and you'll have me both out of your hair, and back in your hair," he shifted his hands back and forth in exuberant illustration. "But enough standing here, my dear, you look like you've had a rough day. Me, I've had a couple of glasses of the fruit of the vine, and I'm feeling wonderful. I'm cooking you up something special."

He sat her down on the couch and soon returned to hand her a glass of wine. Then he turned and disappeared back into the kitchen. _What was he cooking, anyway?_ she wondered as the alcohol warmed her insides. She kicked off her boots, put her feet up, and sank back into the cushions.

"Jane, do I have time to change?" she called out, trying to decipher the heavenly smells drifting in from the kitchen.

"Absolutely. At least twenty minutes yet. Can't rush perfection."

She got changed all right. A few minutes later she stormed into the kitchen to confront him, and she was loaded for bear.

"You rearranged my underwear drawer?! What the _hell_, Jane?!"

He calmly turned around from his stirring, wooden spoon in hand. "Now, now, woman, I'm not some sort of pervert. I got back from my doctor's appointment before noon," he shrugged. "I was bored. I rearranged _all_ of your drawers. They were a mess," he scolded.

"My drawers were just fine!" she sputtered.

"I'll say! But that green lace number?" he blew a breath through pursed lips. "Whoo. That was special." He raised his eyebrows in appreciation.

She was not amused. "You've crossed a line here, Jane!"

"Actually, I was hoping to erase that line," he said coolly, cocking his head with a half smile. And with that, he abruptly halted her righteous momentum, leaving her wordless and flustered.

Jane wasted no time taking advantage. He carefully pretended to step over some imaginary line between them, bringing them face to face. "Here, try this." He lifted the spoon to her lips for her to taste. She rolled her eyes at him, exasperated, but she tasted it all the same.

An appreciative, "Oh, wow," escaped her lips. The sauce was delicate and rich, with just the right amount of…whatever it was he had put into it.

Likewise, he put the spoon to his own lips and licked off a taste of the sauce, nodding his approval. Then, without warning, he leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss. He paused a few seconds to gauge her reaction and then returned for more. This time it was a proper kiss - warm, insistent, deep - and she responded in turn. She felt his free hand on the back of her head, his fingers slipping through her hair. It was a fabulous kiss, a 'tingle all the way to your toes' sort of kiss, and she was very nearly angry again when he dropped his hand and pulled back.

"Sorry Teresa, the sauce…" he explained, and he rushed back to the stove to resume his stirring.

She was left standing there, stunned. As he fussed over his pots and skillets, he asked nonchalantly, "Now, what were you saying about that line?" Even though his back was to her, she knew he was smiling.

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Soon dinner was served and she had to admit, it tasted fabulous. The pork loin, risotto, and vegetables were simple and fresh, but it was the sauces that made it all truly memorable. After they finished eating, he filled their glasses with more wine. "Hey, c'mere," he said, motioning toward the living room. "I want to show you what I got for you today while I was out."

Curious, she followed him, and he stopped beside the CD player. A new stack of CD's sat on the shelf, mostly unopened.

"I took the liberty of adding to your music collection. While I understand the Spice Girls are great for dancing on a Saturday afternoon while you vacuum, you were in desperate need of some Friday night music."

Jane loaded a CD in the player. "I don't know if you're familiar with this one," he said as he took her wine glass from her and sat it on the coffee table, " but you should be." He grasped her hand at the first strains of the music, and pulled her to the middle of the room to dance. They started to sway gently together to the mesmerizing gypsy violin, and then the singer's gravelly voice began:

**Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin**

**Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in**

**Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove**

**Dance me, to the end of love**

She was nestled close to him now, and his scent filled her senses as their bodies shifted in time with the melody. His hand rested in the small of her back, molding her gently against him as he brushed a kiss across her temple.

**Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone**

**Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon**

**Show me slowly what I only know the limits of**

**Dance me to the end of love**

As they moved in unison, the hand on her waist deftly slipped under her untucked shirt and she felt the warmth of his bare palm on the skin of her back. A shiver ran up her spine. _She wanted to give in to this feeling and just let this happen. Wasn't there some reason she shouldn't?_

**Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on**

**Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long**

**We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above**

**Dance me, to the end of love**

Jane leaned down to kiss her forehead, her cheek, and then slowly drew his lips down the line of her jaw to find that spot in the crook of her neck. His hot breath blew ragged in her ear as he placed whispery kisses along her neck and it made her tremble.

**Dance me to the children who are asking to be born**

**Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn**

**Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn**

**Dance me to the end of love**

But still, she hesitated. W_as this truly possible after all this time? __Had he finally set himself free to love her?_

"Of course I love you, Teresa," he said softly. "I've loved you for years. Surely you knew." And just like that, caution saw itself out.

**Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin**

**Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in**

When she pressed her hips against his body she felt him groan. He spoke the last words of the lyric into her ear as they continued to sway, back and forth, back and forth.

**Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove**

**Dance me, to the end of love**

He pulled back from her slightly until their eyes met. And oh, what a look. There was absolutely nothing in Patrick Jane's world right now but her - she'd never been more sure of anything in her life.

As the last strains of the music faded, she took his hand and led him upstairs.

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Next (and most likely the last) chapter preview: Jane and Lisbon try to work things out, and there's at least one surprise/twist yet to come.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just having some fun with these characters.

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AN: Thanks so much to those who have reviewed. I really appreciate your taking the time to comment. Makes me warm and fuzzy, it does. On to the conclusion...I think there's a surprise or two left.

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**Later that evening**

There were probably a lot of questions that she should be asking herself, Lisbon thought as she lay resting, naked in her bed. But the only one that she could think of right now was, "_Why didn't I kill Red John years ago?" _Jane was stretched out next to her, lying on his side. He had one arm tucked under the pillow beneath his head, and his other hand rested lightly on her bare belly. She was glad his eyes were closed so she could contemplate him as she wished.

Over the years, sure, she might have wondered from time to time what her colleague would be like in bed – he was an attractive man, after all. But for some inexplicable reason, she had never considered how well his mentalist abilities would transfer. She should have.

Their lovemaking had been hot and sweet and profound – a wonderful extension of the connection they had forged over the years. They were good together, very good, she thought. And from that hazy, contented look on his face, the feeling seemed to be mutual.

She briefly wondered how this was going to affect things at work.

"We'll work that out, my dear," he said softly, opening his eyes. Sometimes she was positive that he was lying about not being a psychic. "It's not against the rules, you know. I checked," he said with a smile.

"So did I," she admitted.

His smile morphed into a mischievous grin, "By the way, Teresa, I'm glad I finally figured out how I could to get you to call me Patrick."

"You are so bad."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I was mentioned in close company with a _lot_ of deities just a little while ago."

She reached over to swat him but shopped short when she considered the multicolored bruises still splotched over his body. Instead, she ran her fingers gently over the scar on his shoulder.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"Not really. It's a little sore. The ribs are still quite annoying though."

She laid back and closed her eyes, remembering how close she had come to losing him only two short weeks ago.

He shifted slightly beside her, gathering himself, and then out of the blue, delivered an unexpected announcement. "Teresa, I put the house on the market."

Her eyes snapped open and she repositioned her head on the pillow to look at him.

"On Saturday – when you went in to work, I knew you'd be tied up and I wouldn't see much of you." She caught the smart remark that had nearly escaped her lips. His expression was so open and unguarded. The showman's veneer was nowhere to be found.

"I have to admit, I was a little scared and I needed to…to keep moving forward. So I went to Malibu and did some painting and got the realtors out there to look at the house." He raised himself up on one elbow and propped his head on his hand.

"There were some repair issues - that's what kept me so long – gutters and things. I'm sorry if I caused you any worry. Truth be told, I wasn't at all sure you would want to…umm...to take this chance. That you would believe me."

"I love you, Patrick." She was acutely aware that underneath all that glib bravado was a vulnerable man full of self doubt, and he admitted as much in his next breath.

"I know. You deserve so much better, though." Sadness colored his voice. "You know me well, Teresa, but even now - it's going to take some time. I'm a mess. I don't always sleep, I…."

She interrupted him. "I'm not asking for perfect. I'm just asking to be a part of it."

"Then you're even braver than I thought," he said with a smile of resignation. "I was thinking about buying a place here in Sacramento," he suggested cautiously, "when the house sells."

"I think that's a good idea." She waited patiently for those warning bells that always went off in her head when she talked about any kind of commitment in a relationship. Nothing happened.

He lifted his hand a couple of inches off her abdomen and started tracing lazy circles on her skin with one finger.

"I'm an obsessive guy. But you know that."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"So - maybe I've found a new obsession."

Jane lifted his torso over her body and replaced the motion of his finger with gentle kisses, moving slowly from the base of her ribs to her navel.

"Really?" she inquired. "And what would that be?"

He kissed a circle around her navel, and inched a bit farther down on her abdomen. "Making you happy?" he whispered into her belly.

_God help me_, she thought, as she clutched the sheet with her fist. "You're certainly headed in the right direction, Patrick." She felt the tickle of his beard on her skin as he grinned, and then he resumed his feathery kisses, slowly drifting downward.

_Obsession could be good,_ she decided, _wonderful even_. And a couple of minutes later, she stopped thinking altogether.

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On Monday they drove to work separately. She insisted. He thought it was ridiculous - that the team would know right away anyway, but she was thankful that he'd humored her. Lisbon was nervous about this, and she didn't want it to cause problems. _Like Jane hadn't caused problems in her career before_, she rolled her eyes at herself. But somehow this was different, and it was important to her that it go well. He had promised to be on his best behavior and she would hold him to it.

Jane predicted that the team would figure it out within forty-eight hours. She estimated it would take them at least a week. The verdict came Tuesday morning. Lisbon was around the corner from the break room when she heard them talking, and she paused to eavesdrop on her team's conversation.

"So, it's kind of nice to have Jane back," Van pelt started. "He makes things less boring."

"Yeah, he seems like he's doing okay. I mean now that Red John is dead," Rigsby observed. "He's tougher than I thought, I'll give him that. Partridge nearly killed him."

"Yeah, the Boss says he's not cleared for anything physical, but that doesn't really matter, does it?" Van Pelt added. "Hey, have you noticed he's avoiding looking at laptops?"

"I did," Cho said. "Can't say I blame him."

_Hmm_, thought Lisbon, _I'll have to keep an eye out for that. Maybe that psychiatrist was right - you smack down one kind of crazy and another one crops up._

Rigsby lowered his voice slightly and asked, "Does something seem different about Jane and the Boss? I don't know…" he paused, "…if I should even mention this."

Cho replied in his monotone, 'Yeah, I think they're hooking up."

"Totally," agreed Rigsby immediately.

"Oh, come on, guys!" Van Pelt dismissed the idea at first. After she'd thought about it a minute, she asked, "Do you really think so?"

"The Boss is happy and Jane looks like the cat that ate the canary," Rigsby stated.

Lisbon had to stifle a laugh. _But wait. Hadn't she ever looked happy before? She'd been happy. Sure she had_. Hurried footsteps approached down the hall, and she was forced to walk away to avoid getting caught.

When she and Jane met for dinner that night at Harrigan's, she brought it up first. "The team knows."

"Of course they do, Teresa."

"You didn't tell them, did you? Or give them big hints?" She glared at him.

"No, I didn't. They're good detectives. There was really no point in trying to deceive them." He took a sip of his beer. "This afternoon Van Pelt told me she was happy for us. Rigsby whacked me on the shoulder – which really hurt I might add - and said, 'Good for you.' "

"Cho." Jane sat his glass bottle down solidly on the table. "Cho took me aside and told me that if I hurt you, he would kill me."

"No," she laughed, "He didn't."

"Scout's honor."

"You were never a boy scout, Patrick."

"Well, that's what he said, Teresa." He lifted a finger in emphasis. "I was scared, I'll have you know."

"Remind me to put him in for a raise."

Jane's phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his pocket, excusing himself. After a short conversation, he hung up looking both surprised and pleased. "I got an offer on the house already. They don't even want to haggle – met my price."

"Wow, that was fast."

"It was." He dipped his head in agreement. "What do you say, Teresa? I could use another set of eyes. Would you consider going house hunting with me sometime?" he asked her hopefully.

She lifted her eyebrows, shrugged, and said, "Why not?"

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**ONE MONTH LATER – December 24th**

Jane was waiting for her when she emerged from the church. He'd insisted on driving her to confession, saying he had a bit of last minute shopping to do while she was "getting right with God," as he had put it.

She climbed into the passenger's seat, yanked the door shut on the old blue Citroen, and asked him, "Whadya get me?"

"Ah, you'll have to wait, my dear. I know you were disappointed when you found out about Santa, so I'm trying to bring a little magic back to Christmas morning for you." When he grinned like that it meant either something very good or very bad was in store for her.

"So, Teresa, I'm curious, what on earth does a nice person like you confess? That you used the last toilet paper on the roll without replacing it?

"I never do that."

"Yesterday morning."

"Did not."

"It's a serious question, Lisbon. What did you confess? I want to know, because I've been with you practically twenty-four seven for the last month and I have yet to see you do anything that would warrant a need for confession."

She dropped her chin and stared at him. _Oh really?_

"Well, okay, if you consider sexual relations without a church sanctioned union a sin, perhaps, but other than that?"

"I've told lies. I've had thoughts I wasn't proud of."

"Like what?"

She angled her head playfully. "I agreed with Van Pelt the other day that Randy Gunner was hot."

"Who's Randy Gunner?"

"The guy from the coroner's office with the nice ass."

He squinted one eye and twisted in his seat. "Maybe you do need some divine counseling after all."

"I lied to Van Pelt when I told her I hadn't noticed that she'd gained weight."

"That's hardly a lie, Teresa. That's kindness. If that little stuff counts, there's not a church in the world that could hold all my 'sins,'" he snorted. "But no matter. It's your faith and I should be envious. I certainly _wish_ I believed in eternal justice. And peace. And goodwill. Speaking of which, how about some Christmas music?" Sometimes she was still amazed at how his mind flitted from one subject to another.

He twisted the dial on the radio and then thumped it with his finger to get it to come on. The beginning strains of _The Christmas Song_ filled the car, and set them both into reflective silence.

There _was_ one lie she hadn't mentioned to the priest today, because she was sure it wasn't a sin. Normally she didn't make judgments like that on her own – that was the priest's job.

But she was absolutely certain that God understood when she didn't tell Patrick Jane the truth about everything that was on that recording. That it took a long time for Red John to kill little Charlotte. That it was slow, and painful, and that his daughter was terrified out of her wits. That near the end, she called out over and over, "Daddy, help me! Daddy, please help me!"

Yes, that was one lie she'd never regret, and a knowledge she would take with her to her grave.

She looked over at Jane, who was happily humming the melody along with the radio. He was healing, slowly but surely. Occasionally he still woke up in a cold sweat, and it took some time for her to soothe him. But more often, she would feel him grasp her hand in the night, like a touchstone, and then drift back to sleep. Plus, he was laughing more – the real laugh, not that measured, amused one. _ Jane would have scars, but then, doesn't everybody_?

Lisbon knew her own scars were partly responsible for making her a dedicated cop. She loved her job and it was an integral part of who she was. But she and Jane had begun to make a separate life, outside of work, and she was happier than she'd ever been. Now she even understood why people looked forward to their days off. Sometimes it still shocked her team. The look of disbelief on Cho's face the other day when he found her at her desk comparing carpet samples was priceless.

Soon the song was over and Jane interrupted her wandering thoughts, "So, what happens now that you have a clean slate, so to speak? Sin-wise."

"I get started on a new batch of sins, I guess," she quipped.

"See, this is the part I'm interested in."

A seductive edge crept into her voice. "Really? Because I'm thinking of something very, very bad right now."

"Hallelujah," he said, and stepped on the gas.

.

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Lisbon awoke early on Christmas morning and lay in bed quietly, watching the rise and fall of his chest. One of her favorite things about sharing her life with Jane, she reflected, was waking up with him there beside her. She never felt alone anymore.

Thinking back, she hadn't started her career with the plan of never having someone else in her life. But at some point, the realities of what she did for a living had set in. She was in harm's way on a regular basis. If she had had children, they would always be at risk of losing their mother, a situation she was intimately familiar with. In the back of her mind, she always worried - what if the man she married turned out to be a father like her own? How could she risk that?

Knowing Patrick Jane had made her look at things differently. There wasn't a speck of doubt in her mind that if Angela Jane had been killed and Charlotte spared, he would have found the strength to dedicate himself to raising his daughter as well as he possibly could.

Understanding that changed things a lot, at least in her mind. It meant that _she_ hadn't been the one at fault when her father fell apart. It was her father who had simply lacked the necessary courage. Maybe she _had_ saved Patrick Jane, like some people told her. But just as surely, _he_ had saved _her_.

Jane stirred next to her and his eyes fluttered open. With a drowsy smile he said, "Merry Christmas, Teresa."

He rose immediately and pouted like a child when she insisted on a shower and coffee before they opened their presents. She made it up to him, she decided, when she didn't mention seeing him in the bathroom, looking over his shoulder into the mirror at his bare buttocks with a frown. She made a mental note to keep her confessions to herself next time. Maybe she'd have to assure him that Randy Gunner could never hold a candle to him.

Finally, cups in hand, they were both situated in front of their tree. The little live fir had turned out well, adorned with twinkling lights and glass ornaments. They began to open the presents, one by one. She got him a shirt - he got her a new coffee maker. They both ended up with a few very practical gifts each. Before long, there were only two packages left. She insisted that she get to open the last one to her first.

She unwrapped the small box and found the gift she had suspected – an eternity ring they had spied in a store a couple of weeks ago. It was set with diamonds and emeralds and it was gorgeous. He had suggested it because the way he had it figured, if years with him counted as two, they'd already been a couple for nearly eighteen years. "This way you won't have any trouble getting your crime scene gloves on and off…" he'd explained earnestly, hoping to please her. _The joys of marrying a cop_, she chuckled to herself.

"It's perfect," she assured him. She let him slip it on her finger and gave him a kiss.

Then she picked up the final present and handed it to him. It was about the size of a tie box, but thicker. She relished the mystified look on his face. It wasn't easy to stump Jane, but she had.

He ripped off the paper and lifted the top off of the box, parting the tissue. She watched his expression carefully. First she saw confusion as he pulled the gold colored trophy out of the box. When he saw the inscription, he looked shocked and yes, hurt, as he read, "World's Best Dad?" She experienced a brief but necessary pang of guilt. He glanced up at her in distress, but she smiled at him, forcing him to reconsider.

Now he really was confused. Then, slowly but surely, his puzzled expression gave way to a dawning realization. Jane's eyes grew wide with disbelief. She nodded "yes", and his mouth flew open in shock. She would remember that look as long as she lived.

"Teresa? Is this…okay? he asked carefully, judging her reaction.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation. Funny, she hadn't had a single negative thought about it since she'd found out three days ago. She hadn't planned it, of course, but at thirty-eight, she accepted this must be the way things were meant to happen. And she was happy.

"Are you sure you want…me to be? His hand involuntarily touched her belly.

She nodded again, and he abruptly threw his arms around her, enveloping her in a classic bear hug so tight that she thought he might crush her. "Teresa!" Then he released her and drew back, revealing his vibrant, smiling face. "Yes, Teresa," he announced with delight, "there _is_ a Santa Claus…."

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The next July, Lisbon gave birth to a healthy, 7 lb 12 oz baby boy. _She was secretly relieved, because, really, what would she have done with a girl?_

But all her glib thoughts disappeared when she saw him holding their newborn son for the first time. Because she saw something she'd never, ever expected to see – tears of joy flowing down Patrick Jane's face.

"He's beautiful, Teresa," his husky voice caught. "Perfect."

"Yes, Patrick. He is."

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Thanks ever so much for sticking with my little story. I hope you enjoyed it, and I'd love to hear if you were surprised at Lisbon's lie, and if you thought I managed to keep it out of cheeseville. LOL I love constructive criticism. Cheers!


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